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FBOrEBSOR  OF   EMGUBH   AT  INDUNA   CNITZB8ITT 


BOSWELL'S 
LIFE    OF    JOHNSON 


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STUDENT'S  LIBRARY 

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CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


THE  MODERN  STUDENT'S  LIBRARY 


BOSWELL'S 
LIFE   OF  JOHNSON 


ABRIDGED  AND  EDITED,  WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 

BY 

CHARLES  GROSVENOR  OSGOOD 

PROrESSOB  OF   ENOLlaa  AT  PRINCETON   UNIVEB8ITT 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

NEW    YORK  CHICAGO  BOSTON 


/A 


<M 


COPYWGHT,  1917,  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 
B 


Ck>ne«» 
Library 

35-35 


PREFACE 

In  making  this  abridgment  of  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson  1 
have  omitted  most  of  Boswell's  criticisms,  comments,  and 
notes,  all  of  Johnson's  opinions  in  legal  cases,  most  of  the  let- 
ters, and  parts  of  the  conversation  dealing  with  matters  which 
were  of  greater  importance  in  Boswell's  day  than  now.  I 
have  kept  in  mind  an  old  habit,  common  enough,  I  dare  say, 
among  its  devotees,  of  opening  the  book  at  random,  and 
reading  wherever  the  eye  falls  upon  a  passage  of  especial 
interest.  All  such  passages,  I  hope,  have  been  retained, 
and  enough  of  the  whole  book  to  illustrate  all  the  phases 
of  Johnson's  mind  and  of  his  time  which  Boswell  observed. 

Loyal  Johnsonians  may  look  upon  such  a  book  with  a 
measure  of  scorn.  I  could  not  have  made  it,  had  I  not 
believed  that  it  would  be  the  means  of  drawing  new  readers 
to  Boswell,  and  eventually  of  finding  for  them  in  the 
complete  work  what  many  have  already  found — days  and 
years  of  growing  enlightenment  and  happy  companionship, 
and  an  innocent  refuge  from  the  cares  and  perturbations 
of  life. 

Princeton,  June  28,  1917. 


1163048 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/boswellslifeofjoOOboswiala 


INTRODUCTION 

Phillips  Brooks  once  told  the  boys  at  Exeter  that  in  read- 
ing biography  three  men  meet  one  another  in  close  intimacy 
— the  subject  of  the  biography,  the  author,  and  the  reader. 
Of  the  three  the  most  interesting  is,  of  course,  the  man  about 
whom  the  book  is  written.  The  most  privileged  is  the  reader, 
who  is  thus  allowed  to  live  familiarly  with  an  eminent  man. 
Least  regarded  of  the  three  is  the  author.  It  is  his  part  to 
introduce  the  others,  and  to  develop  between  them  an  ac- 
quaintance, perhaps  a  friendship,  while  he,  though  ever 
busy  and  solicitous,  withdraws  into  the  background. 

Some  think  that  Boswell,  in  his  Life  of  Johnson,  did  not 
sufficiently  realize  his  duty  of  self-eflfacement.  He  is  too 
much  in  evidence,  too  bustling,  too  anxious  that  his  own 
opinion,  though  comparatively  unimportant,  should  get  a 
bearing.  In  general,  BosK&ll!&-£aults  are  easily  noticed,  and 
have  been  too  much  talked  about.  He  was(jnorbid,  restless, 
self-conscious,  vain,  insinuating;  and,  poor  fellow,  he  died 
a  drunkard.  ^But  the  essential  Boswell,  the  skilful  and  de- 
voted artist,  is  almost  unrecognized.  As  the  creator  of  the 
Life  of  Johnson  he  is  almost  as  much  effaced  as  is  Homer 
in  the  Odyssey.  He  is  indeed  so  closely  concealed  that  the 
reader  suspects  no  art  at  all.  Boswell's  performance  looks 
easy  enough — merely  the  more  or  less  coherent  stringing  to- 
gether of  a  mass  of  memoranda.  Nevertheless  it  was  rare  and 
difficult,  as  is  the  highest  achievement  in  art.  boswell  is 
primarily  the  artist,  and  he  has  creatfid-onaof-the  great  mas^ 
terpieces  of  the  world.'  \He  created  nothing  else,  though  lyp 

>  Here  I  include  his  Journal  of  a  Tour  of  the  Hebrides  as  essentially  a 
part  of  the  Life.  The  Journal  of  a  Tour  in  Corsica  is  but  a  propsedeutic 
study. 

vii 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

head  was  continually  filling  itself  with  Uterary  schemes  thftt^ 
came  to  nought.    But  into  his  Life  of  Johnson  he  poured 
all  his  artistic  energies,  as  Milton  poured  his  into  Paradise 
Lost,  and  Vergil  his  into  the  ^neid. 

First,  Boswell  had  the  industry  and  the  devotion  to  his 
task  of  an  artist.  (  Twenty  years  and  more  he  labored  in  col- 
lecting his  material.  ^  He  speaks  frankly  of  his  methods. 
He  recorded  the  talk  of  Johnson  and  his  associates  partly 
by  a(^rough  shorthand  of  his  own,  partly  by  an  exceptional 
memor^  which  he  carefully  trained  for  this  very  purpose. 
*0  for  shorthand  to. take  this  down!'  said  he  to  Mrs.  Thrale 
as  they  listened  to  Johnson;  and  she  replied:  'You'll  carry 
it  all  in  your  head;  a  long  head  is  as  good  as  shorthand.' 
Miss  Hannah  More  recalls  a  gay  meeting  at  the  Garricka', 
in  Johnson's  absence,  when  Boswell  was  bold  enough  to 
match  his  skill  with  no  other  than  Garrick  himself  in  an 
imitation  of  Johnson.  Though  Garrick  was  more  success- 
ful in  his  Johnsonian  recitation  of  poetry,  Boswell  won  in 
reproducing  his  familiar  conversation.  He  lost  no  time  in 
perfecting  his  notes  both  mental  and  stenographic,  and 
sat  up  many  a  night  followed  by  a  day  of  headache,  to  write 
them  in  final  form,  that  none  of  the  freshness  and  glow 
might  fade.  The  sheer  labor  of  this  process,  not  to  mention 
the  difficulty,  can  be  measured  only  by  one  who  attempts 
a  similar  feat.  Let  him  try  to  report  the  best  conversation 
of  a  lively  evening,  following  its  course,  preserving  its  point, 
differentiating  sharply  the  traits  of  the  participants,  keep- 
ing the  style,  idiom,  and  exact  words  of  each.  Let  him  re- 
ject all  parts  of  it,  however  diverting,  of  which  the  charm 
and  force  will  evaporate  with  the  occasion,  and  retain  only 
that  which  will  be  as  amusing,  significant,  and  lively  as 
ever  at  the  end  of  one  hundred,  or,  for  all  that  we  can  see, 
one  thousand  years.  He  will  then,  in  some  measure,  realize 
the  difficulty  of  Boswell's  performance.  When  his  work 
appeared  Boswell  himself  said:    'The  stretch  of  mind  and 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

prompt  assiduity  by  which  so  many  conversations  are  pre- 
served, I  myself,  at  some  distance  of  time,  contemplate 
with  wonder.' 

He  was  indefatigable  in  hunting  up  and  consulting  all 
who  had  known  parts  or  aspects  of  Johnson's  life  which 
to  him  were  inaccessible.  CHe  mentions  all  told  more  than 
fifty  names  of  men  and  women  whom  he  consulted  for  in- 
formation, to  which  number  many  others  should  be  added 
of  those  who  gave  him  nothing  that  he  could  use.^  '  I  have 
sometimes  been  obliged  to  run  half  over  London,  in  order 
to  fix  a  date  correctly.'  He  agonized  over  his  work  with 
the  true  devotion  of  an  artist:  'You  cannot  imagine,'  he 
says,  'what  labor,  what  perplexity,  what  vexation  I  have 
endured  in  arranging  a  prodigious  multiplicity  of  materials, 
in  supplying  omissions,  in  searching  for  papers  buried  in 
different  masses,  and  all  this  besides  the  exertion  of  compos- 
ing and  polishing.'  He  despairs  of  making  his  picture  vivid 
or  full  enough,  and  of  ever  realizing  his  preconception  of 
his  masterpiece. 

Boswell's  devotion  to  hLs  work  appears  in  even  more 
extraordinary  wava.  mrnnghnnt.  he  repeatedly  ^ffAra  him, 
self  as  a  victim  to  illustrate  ^  great  fri°Tjf]'R  ^^^i  ^"- 
humor,  wisdom,  afifection,  or  goodness.l  He  never  spares 
himself,  except  now  and  then  to  assume  ft  sp^^what  diaph- 
anous anonymity.  WitVionf  rPgnf^]  fQ£  hia  nwn  Hipr^ify^ 
he  exhibits  hiiii.self  as  hiiiniliate(l,  or  dninkffl,  pr  hvpofhop.^. 
driac,  or  inquisitive,  or  resditiiiii  to  i)etty  subterfuge — anil- 
thing  for  the  accomplislinieiit  of  his  one  main  purpose. 
y^Nay,  Sir,'  said  Johnson,  'it  was  not  the  wine  that  made 
your  head  ache,  but  the  sense  that  I  put  into  it.')  'What, 
Sir,'  asks  the  hapless  Boswell,  'will  sense  make  the  head 
ache?'    'Yes,  Sir,  when  it  is  not  used  to  it.' 

Boswell  is  also  the  artist  in  his  regard  for  truth.  In  him 
it  was  a  passion.  Again  and  again  he  insists  upon  his  au- 
thenticity.    He  developed  an  infallible  gust  and  unerring 


X  INTRODUCTION 

relish  of  what  was  genuinely  Johnsonian  in  speech,  writing, 
or  action;  and  his  own  account  leads  to  the  inference  that 
he  discarded,  as  worthless,  masses  of  diverting  material 
which  would  have  tempted  a  less  scrupulous  writer  beyond 
resistance.  'I  observed  to  him,'  said  Boswell,  'that  there 
were  very  few  of  his  friends  so  accurate  as  that  I  could 
venture  to  put  down  in  writing  what  they  told  me  as  his 
sayings.'  The  faithfulness  of  his  portrait,  even  to  the  mi- 
nutest details,  is  his  unremitting  care,  and  he  subjects  all 
contributed  material  to  the  sternest  criticism. 

Qndustry  and  love  of  truth  alone  will  not  make  the  artist. 
With  only  these  Boswell  might  have  been  merely  a  tireless 
transcriber/^_Bjit  he  had  besides  a/keen  sense  of  artistic 
values.  This  appears  partly  in  the  unity  of  his  vast  work\ 
Though  it  was  years  in  the  making,  though  the  details  that 
demanded  his  attention  were  countless,  yet  they  4ll  centre 
consistently  in  one  figure,\nd  are  so  focused  upon  it,  that 
one  can  hardly  open  the  book  at  random  to  a  line  which  has 
not  its  direct  bearing  upon  the  one  subject  of  the  work. 
Nor  is  the  unity  of  the  book  that  of  an  undeviating  narrative 
in  chronological  order  of  one  man's  life;  it  grows  rather 
out  of  a  single  dominating  personality  exhibited  in  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  a  manifold  career.  Boswell  often  speaks  of 
his  work  as  a  painting,  a  portrait,,  and  of  single  incidents 
as  pictures  or  scenes  in  a  drama.  \Bis  eye  is  keen  for  con- 
trasts, for  picturesque  moments,  for  dramatic  action."^  While 
it  is  always  the  same  Johnson  whom  he  makes  the  central 
figure,  he  studies  to  shift  the  background,  the  interlocutors, 
the  light  and  shade,  in  search  of  new  revelations  and  effects. 
He  presents  a  succession  of  many  scenes,  exquisitely  wrought, 
of  Johnson  amid  widely  various  settings  of  Eighteenth- 
Century  England.  And  subject  and  setting  are  so  closely 
allied  that  each  borrows  charm  and  emphasis  from  the 
other.  Let  the  devoted  reader  of  Boswell  ask  himself  what 
glamor  would  fade  from  the  church  of  St.  Clement  Danes, 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

from  the  Mitre,  from  Fleet  Street,  the  Oxford  coach,  and 
Lichfield,  if  the  burly  figure  were  withdrawn  from  them;  or 
what  charm  and  illumination  of  the  man  himself  would  have 
been  lost  apart  from  these  settings.  It  is  the  unseen  hand 
of  the  artist  Boswell  that  has  wrought  them  inseparably  into 
this  reciprocal  effect. 

The  single  scenes  and  pictures  which  Boswell  has  given 
us  will  all  of  them  bear  close  scrutiny  for  their  precision, 
their  economy  of  means,  their  lifelikeness,  their  artistic 
effect.  None  was  wrought  more  beautifully,  nor  more  ar- 
dently, than  that  of  Johnson's  interview  with  the  King. 
First  we  see  the  plain  massive  figure  of  the  scholar  amid 
the  elegant  comfort  of  Buckingham  House.  He  is  intent 
on  his  book  before  the  fire.  Then  the  approach  of  the 
King,  Ughted  on  his  way  by  Mr.  Barnard  with  candles 
caught  from  a  table;  their  entrance  by  a  private  door,  with 
Johnson's  unconscious  absorption,  his  sudden  surprise,  his 
starting  up,  his  dignity,  the  King's  ease  with  him,  their 
conversation,  in  which  the  King  courteously  draws  from 
Johnson  knowledge  of  that  in  which  Johnson  is  expert, 
Johnson's  manly  bearing  and  voice  throughout — all  is  set 
forth  with  the  unadorned  vividness  and  permanent  effect 
which  seem  artless  enough,  but  which  are  characteristic 
of  only  the  greatest  art. 

Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson  is  further  «  n^^sfpirpipfp  nf  ^j-t,  ip 
thgitiLexertairhe  j^igprous  energy  ofa  masterpiece,  an  abun- 
dance  of  wh^t,  f"r  want,  of  a  better  word,  we  c^U  personality. 
It  is  Boswell's  confessed  endeavor  to  add  this  quality  to  the 
others,  because  he  perceived  that  it  was  an  essential  quality 
of  Johnson  himself,  and  he  more  than  once  laments  his 
inability  to  transmit  the  full  force  and  vitality  of  his  orig- 
inal. Besides  artistic  perception  and  skill  it  required  in 
him  admiration  and  enthusiasm  to  seize  this  characteristic 
and  impart  it  to  his  work.  His  admiration  he  confesses 
unashamed:   'I  said  I  worshipped  him  ...  I  cannot  help 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

worshipping  him,  he  is  so  much  superior  to  other  men/ 
He  studied  his  subject  intensely.  'During  all  the  course 
of  my  long  intimacy  with  him,  my  respectful  attention 
never  abated.'  Upon  such  intensity  and  such  ardor  and 
enthusiasm  depend  the  energy  and  animation  of  his  por- 
trait. 

But  it  exhibits  other  personal  qualitias  than  these,  which, 
if  less  often  remarked,  are  at  any  rate  unconsciously  en- 
joyed. Boswell  had  great  social  charm.  His  friends  are 
agreed  upon  his  liveliness  and  good  nature.  Johnson 
called  him  'clubbable,'  'the  best  traveling  companion  in 
the  world,'  'one  Scotchman  who  is  cheerful,'  'a  man 
whom  everybody  likes,'  'a  man  who  I  believe  never  left 
a  house  without  leaving  a  wish  for  his  return.'  His  vi- 
vacity, his  love  of  fun,  his  passion  for  good  company 
and  friendship,  his  sympathy,  his  amiability,  which  made 
him  acceptable  everywhere,  have  mingled  throughout  with 
his  own  handiwork,  and  cause  it  to  radiate  a  kind  of  genial 
warmth.  This  geniality  it  may  be  which  has  attracted  so 
many  readers  to  the  book.  They  find  themselves  in  good 
company,  in  a  comfortable,  pleasant  place,  agreeably  stimu- 
lated with  wit  and  fun,  and  cheered  with  friendliness.  They 
are  loth  to  leave  it,  and  would  ever  enter  it  again.  This 
rare  charm  the  book  owes  in  large  measure  to  its  creator. 

The  alliance  of  author  with  subject  in  Boswell 's  Johnson 
is  one  of  the  happiest  and  most  sympathetic  the  world  has 
known.  So  close  is  it  that  one  cannot  easily  discern  what 
great  qualities  the  work  owes  to  each.  While  it  surely  de- 
rives more  of  its  excellence  than  is  commonly  remarked  from 
the  art  of  Boswell,  its  greatness  after  all  is  ultimately  that 
of  its  subject.  The  noble  qualities  of  Johnson  have  been 
well  discerned  by  Carlyle,  and  his  obvious  peculiarities  and 
prejudices  somewhat  magnified  and  distorted  in  Macaulay's 
brilliant  refractions.     One  quaUty  only  shall  I  dwell  upon, 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

though  that  may  be  the  sum  of  all  the  rest.  Johnson  had 
a  supreme  capacity  for  human  relationship.  In  him  this 
capacity  amounted  to  genius. 

In  all  respects  he  was  of  great  stature.  His  contempora- 
ries called  him  a  colossus,  the  Uterary  Goliath,  the  Giant,  the 
great  Cham  of  literature,  a  tremendous  companion.  (His 
frame  was  majestic;  he  strode  when  he  walked,  and  his 
physical  strength  and  courage  were  heroic.  His  mode  of 
speaking  was  'very  impressive,'  his  utterance  'deliberate 
and  strong.'  His  conversation  was  compared  to  'an  antique 
statue,  where  every  vein  and  muscle  is  distinct  and  bold.' 
From  boyhood  throughout  his  life  his  companions  naturally 
deferred  to  him,  and  he  dominated  them  without  effort.)  But 
what  overcame  the  harshness  of  this  autocracy,  and  made 
it  reasonable,  was  the  largeness  of  a  nature  that  loved  men 
and  was  ever  hungry  for  knowledge  of  them.  'Sir,'  said 
he,  'I  look  upon  every  day  lost  in  which  I  do  not  make  a 
new  acquaintance.'  And  again:  'Why,  Sir,  I  am  a  man  of 
the  world.  I  live  in  the  world,  and  I  take,  in  some  degree, 
the  color  of  the  world  as  it  moves  along.'  Thus  he  was  a 
part  of  all  that  he  met,  a  central  figure  in  his  time,  with 
whose  opinion  one  must  reckon  in  considering  any  important 
matter  of  his  day. 

(jlis  love  of  London  is  but  a  part  of  his  hunger  for  men. 
'The  happiness  of  London  is  not  to  be  conceived  but  by 
those  who  have  been  in  it.'  'Why,  Sir,  you  find  no  man 
at  all  intellectual  who  is  willing  to  leave  London:  No,  Sir, 
when  a  man  is  tired  of  London,  he  is  tired  of  life;)  for  there 
is  in  London  all  that  life  can  afford.'  As  he  loved  London, 
so  he  loved  a  tavern  for  its  sociability.  '  Sir,  there  is  nothing 
which  has  yet  been  contrived  by  man,  by  which  so  much 
happiness  is  produced  as  by  a  good  tavern.'  *A  tavern 
chair  is  the  throne  of  human  felicity.' 

Personal  words  are  often  upon  his  lips,  such  as  'love' 
and  'hate,'  and  vast  is  the  number,  range,  and  variety  of 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

people  who  at  one  time  or  another  had  been  in  some  degree 
personally  related  with  him,  from  Bet  Flint  and  his  black 
servant  Francis,  to  the  adored  Duchess  of  Devonshire  and 
the  King  himself.  To  no  one  who  passed  a  word  with  him 
was  he  personally  indifferent.  Even  fools  received  his  per- 
sonal attention.  Said  one:  'But  I  don't  understand  you, 
Sir.'  '  Sir,  I  have  found  you  an  argument.  I  am  not  obliged 
to  find  you  an  understanding.'  'Sir,  you  are  irascible,' 
said  Boswell;  'you  have  no  patience  with  folly  or  absurdity.' 
/But  it  is  in  Johnson's  capacity  for  friendship  that  his 
greatness  is  specially  revealed  A  'Keep  your  friendships  in 
good  repair.'  As  the  old  friends  disappeared,  new  ones 
came  to  him.  /For  Johnson  seems  never  to  have  sought 
out  friends.  He  was  not  a  common  'mixer.'  He  stooped 
to  no  devices  for  the  sake  of  popularity r\  He  pours  only 
scorn  upon  the  lack  of  mind  and  conviction  which  is  neces- 
sary to  him  who  is  everybody's  friend. 

/His  friendships  included  all  classes  and  all  ages.  He  was 
a  great  favorite  with  children,  and  knew  how  to  meet  them/ 
from  little  four-months-old  Veronica  Boswell  to  his  god- 
child Jane  Langton.  '  Sir,'  said  he,  '  I  love  the  acquaintance 
of  young  people,  .  .  .  young  men  have  more  virtue  than 
old  men;  they  have  more  generous  sentiments  in  every 
respect.'  At  sixty-eight  he  said:  'I  value  myself  upon  this, 
tl)at  there  is  nothing  of  the  old  man  in  my  conversation.' 
Upon  women  of  all  classes  and  ages  he  exerts  without  trying 
a  charm  the  consciousness  of  which  would  have  turned  any 
head  less  constant  than  his  own,  and  with  their  fulsome 
adoration  he  was  pleased  none  the  less  for  perceiving  its 
real  value. 

/But  the  most  important  of  his  friendships  developed 
between  him  and  such  men  of  genius  as  Boswell,  David 
Garrick,  Oliver  Goldsmith,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  Edmund 
Burke.  Johnson's  genius  left  no  fit  testimony  of  itself 
from  his  own  hand.    With  all  the  greatness  of  his  mind  he 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

had  no  taleqi  in  sufficient  measure  by  which  fully  to  ex- 
press himself.  )fle  had  no  ear  for  music  and  no  eye  for  paint- 
ing, and  the  finest  qualities  in  the  creations  of  Goldsmith 
were  lost  upon  him.  But  his  genius  found  its  talents  in 
others,  and  through  the  talents  of  his  personal  friends  ex- 
pressed itself  as  it  were  by  proxy.  They  rubbed  their  minds 
upon  his,  and  he  set  in  motion  for  them  ideas  which  they 
might  use.^  But  the  intelligence  of  genius  is  profounder 
and  more  personal  than  mere  ideas.  It  has  within  it  some- 
thing energic,  expansive,  propulsive  from  mind  to  mind, 
perennial,  yet  steady  and  controlled;  and  it  was  with  such 
force  that  Johnson's  almost  superhuman  personahty  in- 
spired the  art  of  his  friends.  Of  this  they  were  in  some  de- 
gree aware.  Reynolds  confessed  that  Johnson  formed  his 
mind,  and  'brushed  from  it  a  great  deal  of  rubbish.'  Gib- 
bon called  Johnson  'Reynolds'  oracle.'  In.one  of  his  Dis- 
courses Sir  Joshua,  mindful  no  doubt  of  his  own  experience, 
reconmiends  that  young  artists  seek  the  companionship  of 
such  a  man  merely  as  a  tonic  to  their  art.  Boswell  often 
testifies  to  the  stimulating  effect  of  Johnson's  presence. 
Once  he  speaks  of  'an  animating  blaze  of  eloquence,  which 
roused  every  intellectual  power  in  me  to  the  highest  pitch'; 
and  again  of  the  'full  glow'  of  Johnson's  conversation,  in 
which  he  felt  himself  'elevated  as  if  brought  into  another 
state  of  being.'  He  says  that  all  members  of  Johnson's 
'school'  'are  distinguished  for  a  love  of  truth  and  accuracy 
which  they  would  not  have  possessed  in  the  same  degree 
if  they  had  not  been  acquainted  with  Johnson.'  He  quotes 
Johnson  at  length  and  repeatedly  as  the  author  of  his  own 
large  conception  of  biography.  He  was  Goldsmith's  'great 
master,'  Garrick  feared  his  criticism,  and  one  cannot  but 
recognize  the  power  of  Johnson's  personality  in  the  in- 
creasing intelligence  and  consistency  of  Garrick's  interpre- 
tations, in  the  growing  vigor  and  firmness  of  Goldsmith's 
stroke,  in  the  charm,  finality,   and  exuberant  life  of  Sir 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

Joshua's  portraits;  and  above  all  in  the  skill,  truth,  bril- 
liance, and  life-like  spontaneity  of  Boswell's  art.  It  is  in 
such  works  as  these  that  we  shaU  find  the  real  Johnson, 
and  through  them  that  he  will  exert  the  force  of  his  per- 
sonality upon  us. 

Biography  is  the  literature  of  realized  personality,  of  life 
as  it  has  been  lived,  of  actual  achievements  or  shortcomings, 
of  success  or  failure;  it  is  not  imaginary  and  embellished,  not 
what  might  be  or  might  have  been,  not  reduced  to  prescribed 
or  artificial  forms,  but  it  is  the  unvarnished  story  of  that 
which  was  delightful,  disappointing,  possible,  or  impossible, 
in  a  life  spent  in  this  world. 

In  this  sense  it  is  peculiarly  the  literatiire  of  truth  and 
authenticity.  Elements  of  imagination  and  speculation  must 
enter  into  all  other  forms  of  literature,  and  as  purely  creative 
forms  they  may  rank  superior  to  biography;  but  in  each  case 
it  will  be  found  that  their  authenticity,  their  right  to  our  at- 
tention and  credence,  ultimately  rests  upon  the  biographical 
element  which  is  basic  in  them,  that  is,  upon  what  they  have 
derived  by  observation  and  experience  from  a  human  life 
seriously  lived.  Biography  contains  this  element  in  its 
purity.  For  this  reason  it  is  more  authentic  than  other 
kinds  of  literature,  and  more  relevant.  The  thing  that 
most  concerns  me,  the  individual,  whether  I  will  or  no,  is 
the  management  of  myself  in  this  world.  The  fundamental 
and  essential  conditions  of  life  are  the  same  in  any  age, 
however  the  adventitious  circumstances  may  change.  The 
beginning  and  the  end  are  the  same,  the  average  length  the 
same,  the  problems  and  the  prize  the  same.  How,  then, 
have  others  managed,  both  those  who  failed  and  those  who 
succeeded,  or  those,  in  far  greatest  number,  who  did  both? 
Let  me  know  their  ambitions,  their  odds,  their  handicaps, 
obstacles,  weaknesses,  and  struggles,  how  they  finally  fared, 
and  what  they  had  to  say  about  it.    Let  me  know  a  great 


INTRODUCTION  xvu 

variety  of  such  instances  that  I  may  mark  their  disagree- 
ments, but  more  especially  their  agreement  about  it.  How 
did  they  play  the  game?  How  did  they  fight  the  fight  that 
I  am  to  fight,  and  how  in  any  case  did  they  lose  or  win? 
To  these  questions  biography  gives  the  direct  answer.  Such 
is  its  importance  over  other  literature.  For  such  reasons, 
doubtless,  Johnson  'loved'  it  most.  For  such  reasons  the 
book  which  has  been  most  cherished  and  revered  for  well- 
nigh  two  thousand  years  is  a  biography. 

Biography,  then,  is  the  chief  text-book  in  the  art  of  living, 
and  pre-eminent  in  its  kind  is  the  Life  of  Johnson.  •  Here  is 
the  instance  of  a  man  who  was  born  into  a  life  stripped  of 
all  ornament  and  artificiality.  His  equipment  in  mind  and 
stature  was  Olympian,  but  the  odds  against  him  were  pro- 
portionate to  his  powers.  Without  fear  or  complaint,  without 
boast  or  noise,  he  fairly  joined  issue  with  the  world  and 
overcame  it.  He  scorned  circumstance,  and  laid  bare  the 
unvarying  realities  of  the  contest.  He  was  ever  the  sworn 
enemy  of  speciousness,  of  nonsense,  of  idle  and  insincere 
speculation,  of  the  mind  that  does  not  take  seriously  the 
duty  of  making  itself  up,  of  neglect  in  the  gravest  con- 
sideration of  life.  He  insisted  upon  the  rights  and  dignity 
of  the  individual  man,  and  at  the  same  time  upon  the  vital 
necessity  to  him  of  reverence  and  submission,  and  no  man 
ever  more  beautifully  illustrated  their  interdependence,  and 
their  exquisite  combination  in  a  noble  nature. 
C  Boswell's  Johnson  is  consistently  and  primarily  the  life 
of  one  man.  Incidentally  it  is  more,  for  through  it  one  is 
carried  from  his  own  present  limitations  into  a  spacious 
and  genial  world.  )  The  reader  there  meets  a  vast  number  of 
people,  men,  women,  children,  nay  even  animals,  from  George 
the  Third  down  to  the  cat  Hodge.  By  the  author's  magic 
each  is  alive,  and  the  reader  mingles  with  them  as  with 
his  acquaintances.  (It  is  a  varied  world,  and  includes  the 
smoky  and  swarming  courts  and  highways  of  London,  its 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

stately  drawing-rooms,  its  cheerful  inns,  its  shops  and 
markets,  and  beyond  is  the  highroad  which  we  travel  in 
lumbering  coach  or  speeding  postchaise  to  venerable  Ox- 
ford with  its  polite  and  leisurely  dons,  or  to  the  staunch 
little  cathedral  city  of  Lichfield,  welcoming  back  its  famous 
son  to  dinner  and  tea,  or  to  the  seat  of  a  country  squire, 
or  ducal  castle,  or  village  tavern,  or  the  grim  but  hospitable 
feudal  life  of  the  Hebrides. ^And  wherever  we  go  with  John- 
son there  is  the  lively  traffic  in  ideas,  lending  vitality  and 
significance  to  everything  about  him. 

A  part  of  education  and  culture  is  the  extension  of  one's 
narrow  range  of  living  to  include  wider  possibilities  or  actu- 
alities, such  as  may  be  gathered  from  other  fields  of  thought, 
other  times,  other  men;  in  short,  to  use  a  Johnsonian  phrase, 
it  is  'multiplicity  of  consciousness.'  There  is  no  book  more 
effective  through  long  familiarity  to  such  extension  and 
such  multiplication  than  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson.  It  adds 
a  new  world  to  one's  own,  it  increases  one's  acquaintance 
among  people  who  think,  it  gives  intimate  companionship 
with  a  great  and  friendly  man. 

The  Li/e  oj  Johnson  is  not  a  book  on  first  acquaintance  to 
be  read  through  from  the  first  page  to  the  end.  '  No,  Sir,  do 
you  read  books  through?'  asked  Johnson.  His  way  is  prob- 
ably the  best  one  of  undertaking  this  book.  Open  at  random, 
read  here  and  there,  forward  and  back,  wholly  according 
to  inclination;  follow  the  practice  of  Johnson  and  all  good 
readers,  of  'tearing  the  heart'  out  of  it.  In  this  way  you 
most  readily  come  within  the  reach  of  its  charm  and  power. 
Then,  not  content  with  a  part,  seek  the  unabridged  whole, 
and  grow  into  the  infinite  possibilities  of  it. 

But  the  supreme  end  of  education,  we  are  told,  is  expert 
discernment  in  all  things — the  power  to  tell  the  good  from 
the  bad,  the  genuine  from  the  counterfeit,  and  to  prefer 
the  good  and  the  genuine  to  the  bad  and  the  counterfeit. 
This  is  the  supreme  end  of  the  talk  of  Socrates,  and  it  is 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

the  supreme  end  of  the  talk  of  Johnson.  'My  dear  friend,' 
said  he,  'clear  j'our  mind  of  cant;  .  .  .  don't  think  foolishly.' 
The  effect  of  long  companionship  with  Boswell's  Johnson 
is  just  this.  As  Sir  Joshua  said,  'it  brushes  away  the  rub- 
bish'; it  clears  the  mind  of  cant;  it  instills  the  habit  of 
singling  out  the  essential  thing;  it  imparts  discernment. 
Thus,  through  his  friendship  with  Boswell,  Johnson  will 
realize  his  wish,  still  to  be  teaching  as  the  years  increase. 


THE  LIFE  OF 
SAMUEL  JOHNSON,  LL.D. 

Had  Dr.  Johnson  written  his  own  Ufe,  in  conformity  with 
the  opinion  which  he  has  given,  that  every  man's  life  may 
be  best  written  by  himself;  had  he  employed  in  the  preser- 
vation of  his  own  history,  that  clearness  of  narration  and 
elegance  of  language  in  which  he  has  embalmed  so  many 
eminent  persons,  the  world  would  probably  have  had  the 
most  perfect  example  of  biography  that  was  ever  exhibited. 
But  although  he  at  different  times,  in  a  desultory  manner, 
committed  to  writing  many  particulars  of  the  progress  of 
his  mind  and  fortunes,  he  never  had  persevering  diligence 
enough  to  form  them  into  a  regular  composition.  Of  these 
memorials  a  few  have  been  preserved;  but  the  greater  part 
was  consigned  by  him  to  the  flames,  a  few  days  before  his 
death. 

As  I  had  the  honour  and  happiness  of  enjoying  his  friend- 
ship for  upwards  of  twenty  years;  as  I  had  the  scheme  of 
writing  his  life  constantly  in  view;  as  he  was  well  apprised 
of  this  circumstance,  and  from  time  to  time  obligingly  satis- 
fied my  inquiries,  by  communicating  to  me  the  incidents  of 
his  early  years;  as  I  acquired  a  facility  in  recollecting,  and 
was  very  assiduous  in  recording,  his  conversation,  of  which 
the  extraordinary  vigour  and  vivacity  constituted  one  of 
the  first  features  of  his  character;  and  as  I  have  spared  no 
pains  in  obtaining  materials  concerning  him,  from  every 
quarter  where  I  could  discover  that  they  were  to  be  found, 
and  have  been  favoured  with  the  most  liberal  communica- 
tions by  his  friends;  I  flatter  myself  that  few  biographers 
have  entered  upon  such  a  work  as  this,  with  more  advan- 
tages;  independent  of  literary  abilities,  in  which  I  am  not 

1 


2  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON 

vain  enough  to  compare  myself  with  some  great  names  who 
have  gone  before  me  in  this  kind  of  writing. 

Instead  of  melting  down  my  materials  into  one  mass,  and 
constantly  speaking  in  my  own  person,  by  which  I  might 
have  appeared  to  have  more  merit  in  the  execution  of  the 
work,  I  have  resolved  to  adopt  and  enlarge  upon  the  excellent 
plan  of  Mr.  Mason,  in  his  Memoirs  of  Gray.  Wherever 
narrative  is  necessary  to  explain,  connect,  and  supply,  I 
furnish  it  to  the  best  of  my  abilities;  but  in  the  chronologi- 
cal series  of  Johnson's  life,  which  I  trace  as  distinctly  as  I 
can,  year  by  year,  I  produce,  wherever  it  is  in  my  power, 
his  own  minutes,  letters  or  conversation,  being  convinced 
that  this  mode  is  more  lively,  and  will  make  my  readers 
better  acquainted  with  him,  than  even  most  of  those  were 
who  actually  knew  him,  but  could  know  him  only  partially; 
whereas  there  is  here  an  accumulation  of  intelligence  from 
various  points,  by  which  his  character  is  more  fully  under- 
stood and  illustrated. 

Indeed  I  cannot  conceive  a  more  perfect  mode  of  writing 
any  man's  life,  than  not  only  relating  all  the  most  impor- 
tant events  of  it  in  their  order,  but  interweaving  what  he 
privately  wrote,  and  said,  and  thought;  by  which  mankind 
are  enabled  as  it  were  to  see  him  live,  and  to  'live  o'er  each 
scene '  with  him,  as  he  actually  advanced  through  the  several 
stages  of  his  life.  Had  his  other  friends  been  as  diligent 
and  ardent  as  I  was,  he  might  have  been  almost  entirely 
preserved.  As  it  is,  I  will  venture  to  say  that  he  will  be 
seen  in  this  work  more  completely  than  any  man  who  has 
ever  yet  lived. 

And  he  will  be  seen  as  he  really  was;  for  I  profess  to 
write,  not  his  panegyrick,  which  must  be  all  praise,  but  his 
Life;  which,  great  and  good  as  he  was,  must  not  be  sup- 
posed to  be  entirely  perfect.  To  be  as  he  was,  is  indeed 
subject  of  panegyrick  enough  to  any  man  in  this  state  of 
being;  but  in  every  picture  there  should  be  shade  as  well 
as  light,  and  when  I  delineate  him  without  reserve,  I  do 
what  he  himself  recommended,  both  by  his  precept  and  his 
example. 

I  am  fully  aware  of  the  objections  which  may  be  made  to 


17091        JOHNSON'S  BIRTH  AND  BAPTISM  3 

the  minuteness  on  some  occasions  of  my  detail  of  Johnson's 
conversation,  and  how  happily  it  is  adapted  for  the  petty 
exercise  of  ridicule,  by  men  of  superficial  understanding  and 
ludicrous  fancy;  but  I  remain  firm  and  confident  in  my 
opinion,  that  minute  particulars  are  frequently  character- 
istick,  and  always  amusing,  when  they  relate  to  a  distin- 
guished man.  I  am  therefore  exceedingly  unwilling  that  any 
thing,  however  slight,  which  my  illustrious  friend  thought  it 
worth  his  while  to  express,  with  any  degree  of  point,  should 
perish. 

Of  one  thing  I  am  certain,  that  considering  how  highly 
the  small  portion  which  we  have  of  the  table-talk  and  other 
anecdotes  of  our  celebrated  writers  is  valued,  and  how  ear- 
nestly it  is  regretted  that  we  have  not  more,  I  am  justified  in 
preserving  rather  too  many  of  Johnson's  sayings,  than  too 
few;  especially  as  from  the  diversity  of  dispositions  it  cannot 
be  known  with  certainty  beforehand,  whether  what  may 
seem  trifling  to  some,  and  perhaps  to  the  collector  himself, 
may  not  be  most  agreeable  to  many;  and  the  greater  number 
that  an  authour  can  please  in  any  degree,  the  more  pleasure 
does  there  arise  to  a  benevolent  mind. 

Samuel  Johnson  was  born  at  Lichfield,  in  Staffordshire, 
on  the  18th  of  September,  N.S.,  1709;  and  his  initiation 
into  the  Christian  Church  was  not  delayed;  for  his  baptism 
is  recorded,  in  the  register  of  St.  Mary's  parish  in  that  city, 
to  have  been  performed  on  the  day  of  his  birth.  His  father 
is  there  stiled  Gentleman,  a  circumstance  of  which  an  igno- 
rant panegyrist  has  praised  him  for  not  being  proud;  when 
the  truth  is,  that  the  appellation  of  Gentleman,  though  now 
lost  in  the  indiscriminate  assumption  of  Esquire,  was  com- 
monly taken  by  those  who  could  not  boast  of  gentility. 
His  father  was  Michael  Johnson,  a  native  of  Derbyshire,  of 
obscure  extraction,  who  settled  in  Lichfield  as  a  bookseller 
and  stationer.  His  mother  was  Sarah  Ford,  descended  of 
an  ancient  race  of  substantial  yeomanry  in  Warwickshire. 
They  were  well  advanced  in  years  when  they  married,  and 
never  had  more  than  two  children,  both  sons;  Samuel,  their 
first  bom,  who  lived  to  be  the  illustrious  character  whose 


4  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i7(» 

various  excellence  I  am  to  endeavour  to  record,  and  Na- 
thanael,  who  died  in  his  twenty-fifth  year. 

Mr.  Michael  Johnson  was  a  man  of  a  large  and  robust 
body,  and  of  a  strong  and  active  mind;  yet,  as  in  the  most 
solid  rocks  veins  of  unsound  substance  are  often  discovered, 
there  was  in  him  a  mixture  of  that  disease,  the  nature  of 
which  eludes  the  most  minute  enquiry,  though  the  effects- 
are  well  known  to  be  a  weariness  of  life,  an  unconcern  about 
those  things  which  agitate  the  greater  part  of  mankind,  and 
a  general  sensation  of  gloomy  wretchedness.  From  him  then 
his  son  inherited,  with  some  other  qualities,  'a  vile  melan- 
choly,' which  in  his  too  strong  expression  of  any  disturbance 
of  the  mind,  'made  him  mad  all  his  life,  at  least  not  sober.' 
Michael  was,  however,  forced  by  the  narrowness  of  his  cir- 
cumstances to  be  very  diligent  in  business,  not  only  in  his 
shop,  but  by  occasionally  resorting  to  several  towns  in  the 
neighbourhood,  some  of  which  were  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance from  Lichfield.  At  that  time  booksellers'  shops  in  the 
provincial  towns  of  England  were  very  rare,  so  that  there 
was  not  one  even  in  Birmingham,  in  which  town  old  Mr. 
Johnson  used  to  op)en  a  shop  every  market-day.  He  was  a 
pretty  good  Latin  scholar,  and  a  citizen  so  creditable  as  to 
be  made  one  of  the  magistrates  of  Lichfield;  and,  being  a 
man  of  good  sense,  and  skill  in  his  trade,  he  acquired  a 
reasonable  share  of  wealth,  of  which  however  he  afterwards, 
lost  the  greatest  part,  by  engaging  unsuccessfully  in  a  manu- 
facture of  parchment.  He  was  a  zealous  high-church  man 
and  royalist,  and  retained  his  attachment  to  the  unfortunate 
house  of  Stuart,  though  he  reconciled  himself,  by  casuistical 
arguments  of  expediency  and  necessity,  to  take  the  oaths 
imposed  by  the  prevailing  power. 

Johnson's  mother  was  a  woman  of  distinguished  under- 
standing. I  asked  his  old  school-fellow,  Mr.  Hector,  surgeon 
of  Birmingham,  if  she  was  not  vain  of  her  son.  He  said, 
'she  had  too  much  good  sense  to  be  vain,  but  she  knew  her 
son's  value.'  Her  piety  was  not  inferiour  to  her  under- 
standing; and  to  her  must  be  ascribed  those  early  impres- 
sions of  religion  upon  the  mind  of  her  son,  from  which  the 
world  afterwards  derived  so  much  benefit.    He  told  me,  that 


17091  ANECDOTES  5 

he  remembered  distinctly  having  had  the  first  notice  of 
Heaven,  *a  place  to  which  good  people  went,'  and  hell,  'a 
place  to  which  bad  people  went,'  communicated  to  him  by 
her,  when  a  Uttle  child  in  bed  with  her;  and  that  it  might  be 
the  better  fixed  in  his  memory,  she  sent  him  to  repeat  it  to 
Thomas  Jackson,  their  man-servant;  he  not  being  in  the 
way,  this  was  not  done;  but  there  was  no  occasion  for  any 
artificial  aid  for  its  preservation. 

There  is  a  traditional  story  of  the  infant  Hercules  of 
toryism,  so  curiously  characteristick,  that  I  shall  not  with- 
hold it.  It  was  communicated  to  me  in  a  letter  from  Miss 
Mary  Adye,  of  Lichfield: 

'When  Dr.  Sacheverel  was  at  Lichfield,  Johnson  was  not 
quite  three  years  old.  My  grandfather  Hammond  observed 
him  at  the  cathedral  perched  upon  his  father's  shoulders, 
listening  and  gaping  at  the  much  celebrated  preacher.  Mr. 
Hammond  asked  Mr.  Johnson  how  he  could  possibly  think 
of  bringing  such  an  infant  to  church,  and  in  the  midst  of 
so  great  a  crowd.  He  answered,  because  it  was  impossible 
to  keep  him  at  home;  for,  young  as  he  was,  he  believed  he 
had  caught  the  publick  spirit  and  zeal  for  Sacheverel,  and 
would  have  staid  for  ever  in  the  church,  satisfied  with  be- 
holding him.' 

Nor  can  I  omit  a  little  instance  of  that  jealous  indepen- 
dence of  spirit,  and  impetuosity  of  temper,  which  never  for- 
sook him.  The  fact  was  acknowledged  to  me  by  himself, 
uf)on  the  authority  of  his  mother.  One  day,  when  the  ser- 
vant who  used  to  be  serit  to  school  to  conduct  him  home, 
had  not  come  in  time,  he  set  out  by  himself,  though  he  was 
then  so  near-sighted,  that  he  was  obliged  to  stoop  down  on 
his  hands  and  knees  to  take  a  view  of  the  kennel  before  he 
ventured  to  step  over  it.  His  school-mistress,  afraid  that 
he  might  miss  his  way,  or  fall  into  the  kennel,  or  be  run  over 
by  a  cart,  followed  him  at  some  distance.  He  happened  to 
turn  about  and  perceive  her.  Feeling  her  careful  attention 
as  an  insult  to  his  manliness,  he  ran  back  to  her  in  a  rage, 
and  beat  her,  as  well  as  his  strength  would  permit. 

Of  the  power  of  his  memory,  for  which  he  was  all  his  life 
eminent  to  a  degree  almost  incredible,  the  following  early 


6  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1712 

instance  was  told  me  in  his  presence  at  Lichfield,  in  1776,  by 
his  step-daughter,  Mrs.  Lucy  Porter,  as  related  to  her  by  his 
mother.  When  he  was  a  child  in  petticoats,  and  had  learnt 
to  read,  Mrs.  Johnson  one  morning  put  the  common  prayer- 
book  into  his  hands,  pointed  to  the  collect  for  the  day,  and 
said,  'Sam,  you  must  get  this  by  heart.'  She  went  up 
stairs,  leaving  him  to  study  it:  But  by  the  time  she  had 
reached  the  second  floor,  she  heard  him  following  her. 
'What's  the  matter?'  said  she.  'I  can  say  it,'  he  replied; 
and  repeated  it  distinctly,  though  he  could  not  have  read  it 
more  than  twice. 

But  there  has  been  another  story  of  his  infant  precocity 
generally  circulated,  and  generally  believed,  the  truth  of 
which  I  am  to  refute  upon  his  own  authority.  It  is  told, 
that,  when  a  child  of  three  years  old,  he  chanced  to  tread 
upon  a  duckling,  the  eleventh  of  a  brood,  and  killed  it; 
upon  which,  it  is  said,  he  dictated  to  his  mother  the  follow- 
ing epitaph: 

'Here  lies  good  master  duck, 

Whom  Samuel  Johnson  trod  on; 

If  it  had  liv'd,  it  had  been  good  luck. 

For  then  we'd  had  an  odd  one.' 

There  is  surely  internal  evidence  that  this  little  composition 
combines  in  it,  what  no  child  of  three  years  old  could  pro- 
duce, without  an  extension  of  its  faculties  by  immediate 
inspiration;  yet  Mrs.  Lucy  Porter,  Dr.  Johnson's  step- 
daughter, positively  maintained  to'  me,  in  his  presence,  that 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  truth  of  this  anecdote,  for 
she  had  heard  it  from  his  mother.  So  difficult  is  it  to  ob- 
tain an  authentick  relation  of  facts,  and  such  authority 
may  there  be  for  errour;  for  he  assured  me,  that  his  father 
made  the  verses,  and  wished  to  pass  them  for  his  child's. 
He  added,  'my  father  was  a  foolish  old  man;  that  is  to  say, 
foolish  in  talking  of  his  children.' 

Young  Johnson  had  the  misfortune  to  be  much  aflBicted 
with  the  scrophula,  or  king's  evil,  which  disfigured  a  coun- 
tenance naturally  well  formed,  and  hurt  his  visual  nerves 
so  much,  that  he  did  not  see  at  all  with  one  of  his  eyes, 


1712)  HIS  EYESIGHT  7 

though  its  appearance  was  Httle  different  from  that  of  the 
other.  There  is  amongst  his  prayers,  one  inscribed  'When 
my  EYE  rvas  restored  tc  its  use,'  which  ascertains  a  defect 
that  many  of  his  friends  knew  he  had,  though  I  never  per- 
ceived it.  I  supposed  him  to  be  only  near-sighted;  and 
indeed  I  must  observe,  that  in  no  other  respect  could  I  dis- 
cern any  defect  in  his  vision;  on  the  contrary,  the  force  of 
his  attention  and  perceptive  quickness  made  him  see  and  dis- 
tinguish all  manner  of  objects,  whether  of  nature  or  of  art, 
with  a  nicety  that  is  rarely  to  be  found.  When  he  and  I  were 
travelling  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  and  I  pointed  out 
to  him  a  mountain  which  I  observed  resembled  a  cone,  he 
corrected  my  inaccuracy,  by  shewing  me,  that  it  was  indeed 
pointed  at  the  top,  but  that  one  side  of  it  was  larger  than, 
the  other.  And  the  ladies  with  whom  he  was  acquainted 
agree,  that  no  man  was  more  nicely  and  minutely  critical  in 
the  elegance  of  female  dress.  When  I  found  that  he  saw 
the  romantick  beauties  of  Islam,  in  Derbyshire,  much  better 
than  I  did,  I  told  him  that  he  resembled  an  able  performer 
upon  a  bad  instrument.  It  has  been  said,  that  he  con- 
tracted this  grievous  malady  from  his  nurse.  His  mother 
jrielding  to  the  superstitious  notion,  which,  it  is  wonderful 
to  think,  prevailed  so  long  in  this  country,  as  to  the  virtue 
of  the  regal  touch;  a  notion,  which  our  kings  encouraged, 
and  to  which  a  man  of  such  inquiry  and  such  judgement  as 
Carte  could  give  credit;  carried  him  to  London,  where  he 
was  actually  touched  by  Queen  Anne.  Mrs.  Johnson  indeed, 
as  Mr.  Hector  informed  me,  acted  by  the  advice  of  the  cele- 
brated Sir  John  Floyer,  then  a  physician  in  Lichfield.  John- 
son used  to  talk  of  this  very  frankly;  and  Mrs.  Piozzi  has 
preserved  his  very  picturesque  description  of  the  scene,  as  it 
remained  upon  his  fancy.  Being  asked  if  he  could  remem- 
ber Queen  Anne,  'He  had  (he  said)  a  confused,  but  some- 
how a  sort  of  solemn  recollection  of  a  lady  in  diamonds,  and 
a  long  black  hood.'  This  touch,  however,  was  without  any 
effect.  I  ventured  to  say  to  him,  in  allusion  to  the  political 
principles  in  which  he  was  educated,  and  of  which  he  ever 
retained  some  odour,  that  'his  mother  had  not  carried  him 
far  enough;  she  should  have  taken  him  to  Rome.' 


8  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [17.2 

He  was  first  taught  to  read  English  by  Dame  Oliver,  a 
widow,  who  kept  a  school  for  young  children  in  Lichfield. 
He  told  me  she  could  read  the  black  letter,  and  asked  him 
to  borrow  for  her,  from  his  father,  a  bible  in  that  character. 
When  he  was  going  to  Oxford,  she  came  to  take  leave  of  him, 
brought  him,  in  the  simplicity  of  her  kindness,  a  present  of 
gingerbread,  and  said,  he  was  the  best  scholar  she  ever  had. 
He  delighted  in  mentioning  this  early  compliment:  adding, 
with  a  smile,  that  'this  was  as  high  a  proof  of  his  merit  as 
he  could  conceive.'  His  next  instructor  in  English  was  a 
master,  whom,  when  he  spwke  of  him  to  me,  he  familiarly 
called  Tom  Brown,  who,  said  he,  'published  a  spelling-book, 
and  dedicated  it  to  the  Universe;  but,  I  fear,  no  copy  of 
it  can  now  be  had.' 

He  began  to  learn  Latin  with  Mr.  Hawkins,  usher,  or 
under-master  of  Lichfield  school,  'a  man  (said  he)  very 
skilful  in  his  little  way.'  With  him  he  continued  two  years, 
and  then  rose  to  be  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Hunter,  the  head- 
master, who,  according  to  his  account,  'was  very  severe, 
and  wrong-headedly  severe.  He  used  (said  he)  to  beat  us 
unmercifully;  and  he  did  not  distinguish  between  ignorance 
and  negligence;  for  he  would  beat  a  boy  equally  for  not 
knowing  a  thing,  as  for  neglecting  to  know  it.  He  would 
ask  a  boy  a  question;  and  if  he  did  not  answer  it,  he  would 
beat  him,  without  considering  whether  he  had  an  opportunity 
of  knowing  how  to  answer  it.  For  instance,  he  would  call 
up  a  boy  and  ask  him  Latin  for  a  candlestick,  which  the  boy 
could  not  expect  to  be  asked.  Now,  Sir,  if  a  boy  could  answer 
every  question,  there  would  be  no  need  of  a  master  to  teach 
him.' 

It  is,  however,  but  justice  to  the  memory  of  Mr.  Hunter 
to  mention,  that  though  he  might  err  in  being  too  severe, 
the  school  of  Lichfield  was  very  respectable  in  his  time. 
The  late  Dr.  Taylor,  Prebendary  of  Westminster,  who  was 
educated  under  him,  told  me,  that  'he  was  an  excellent 
master,  and  that  his  ushers  were  most  of  them  men  of  emi- 
nence; that  Holbrook,  one  of  the  most  ingenious  men,  best 
scholars,  and  best  preachers  of  his  age,  was  usher  during  the 
greatest  part  of  the  time  that  Johnson  was  at  school.     Then 


17121  JOHNSON  A  KING  OF  MEN  9 

came  Hague,  of  whom  as  much  might  be  said,  with  the 
addition  that  he  was  an  elegant  poet.  Hague  was  succeeded 
by  Green,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Lincohi,  whose  character 
in  the  learned  world  is  well  known.' 

Indeed  Johnson  was  very  sensible  how  much  he  owed  to 
Mr.  Hunter.  Mr.  Langton  one  day  asked  him  how  he  had 
acquired  so  accurate  a  knowledge  of  Latin,  in  which,  I  be- 
Ueve,  he  was  exceeded  by  no  man  of  his  time;  he  said,  'My 
master  whipt  me  very  well.  Without  that.  Sir,  I  should 
have  done  nothing.'  He  told  Mr.  Langton,  that  while 
Hunter  was  flogging  his  boys  unmercifully,  he  used  to  say, 
'And  this  I  do  to  save  you  from  the  gallows.'  Johnson, 
upon  all  occasions,  expressed  his  approbation  of  enforcing 
instruction  by  means  of  the  rod.  'I  would  rather  (said  he) 
have  the  rod  to  be  the  general  terrour  to  all,  to  make  them 
learn,  than  tell  a  child,  if  you  do  thus,  or  thus,  you  will  be 
more  esteemed  than  your  brothers  or  sisters.  The  rod  pro- 
duces an  effect  which  terminates  in  itself.  A  child  is  afraid 
of  being  whipped,  and  gets  his  task,  and  there's  an  end  on't; 
whereas,  by  exciting  emulation  and  comparisons  of  superior- 
ity, you  lay  the  foundation  of  lasting  mischief;  you  make 
brothers  and  sisters  hate  each  other.' 

That  superiority  over  his  fellows,  which  he  maintained 
with  so  much  dignity  in  his  march  through  life,  was  not 
assumed  from  vanity  and  ostentation,  but  was  the  natural 
and  constant  effect  of  those  extraordinary  powers  of  mind, 
of  which  he  could  not  but  be  conscious  by  comparison;  the 
intellectual  difference,  which  in  other  cases  of  comparison 
of  characters,  is  often  a  matter  of  undecided  contest,  being 
as  clear  in  his  case  as  the  superiority  of  stature  in  some  men 
above  others.  Johnson  did  not  strut  or  stand  on  tiptoe; 
He  only  did  not  stoop.  From  his  earliest  years  his  superior- 
ity was  perceived  and  acknowledged.  He  was  from  the  be- 
ginning "Ava$  4v5pwv,  a  king  of  men.  His  school-fellow,  Mr. 
Hector,  has  obligingly  furnished  me  with  many  particulars 
of  his  boyish  days:  and  assured  me  that  he  never  knew  him 
corrected  at  school,  but  for  talking  and  diverting  other  boys 
from  their  business.  He  seemed  to  learn  by  intuition;  for 
though  indolence  and  procrastination  were  inherent  in  his 


10  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1712 

constitution,  whenever  he  made  an  exertion  he  did  more 
than  any  one  else.  His  favourites  used  to  receive  very  lib- 
eral assistance  from  him;  and  such  was  the  submission  and 
deference  with  which  he  was  treated,  such  the  desire  to  ob- 
tain his  regard,  that  three  of  the  boys,  of  whom  Mr.  Hector 
was  sometimes  one,  used  to  come  in  the  morning  as  his 
humble  attendants,  and  carry  him  to  school.  One  in  the 
middle  stooped,  while  he  sat  upon  his  back,  and  one  on 
each  side  supported  him;  and  thus  he  was  borne  triumphant. 
Such  a  proof  of  the  early  predominance  of  intellectual  vig- 
our is  very  remarkable,  and  does  honour  to  human  nature. 
Talking  to  me  once  himself  of  his  being  much  distinguished 
at  school,  he  told  me,  'they  never  thought  to  raise  me  by 
comparing  me  to  any  one;  they  never  said,  Johnson  is  as 
good  a  scholar  as  such  a  one;  but  such  a  one  is  as  good  a 
scholar  as  Johnson;  and  this  was  said  but  of  one,  but  of  Lowe; 
and  I  do  not  think  he  was  as  good  a  scholar.' 

He  discovered  a  great  ambition  to  excel,  which  roused 
him  to  counteract  his  indolence.  He  was  uncommonly  in- 
quisitive; and  his  memory  was  so  tenacious,  that  he  never 
forgot  any  thing  that  he  either  heard  or  read.  -Mr.  Hector 
remembers  having  recited  to  him  eighteen  verses,  which, 
after  a  little  pause,  he  repeated  verbatim,  varying  only  one 
epithet,  by  which  he  improved  the  line. 

He  never  joined  with  the  other  boys  in  their  ordinary 
diversions:  his  only  amusement  was  in  winter,  when  he 
took  a  pleasure  in  being  drawn  upon  the  ice  by  a  boy  bare- 
footed, who  pulled  him  along  by  a  garter  fixed  round  him; 
no  very  easy  operation,  as  his  size  was  remarkably  large. 
His  defective  sight,  indeed,  prevented  him  from  enjoying 
the  common  sports;  and  he  once  pleasantly  remarked  to 
me,  'how  wonderfully  well  he  had  contrived  to  be  idle 
without  them.'  Mr.  Hector  relates,  that  'he  could  not 
oblige  him  more  than  by  sauntering  away  the  hours  of 
vacation  in  the  fields,  during  which  he  was  more  engaged 
in  talking  to  himself  than  to  his  companion.' 

Dr.  Percy,  the  Bishop  of  Dromore,  who  was  long  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  him,  and  has  preserved  a  few  anec- 
dotes concerning  him,  regretting  that  he  was  not  a  more 


1725]  STOURBRIDGE  SCHOOL  11 

diligent  collector,  informs  me,  that  'when  a  boy  he  was 
immoderately  fond  of  reading  romances  of  chivalry,  and  he 
retained  his  fondness  for  them  through  life;  so  that  (adds 
his  Lordship)  spending  part  of  a  summer  at  my  parsonage- 
house  in  the  country,  he  chose  for  his  regular  reading  the 
old  Spanish  romance  of  Felixmarte  of  Hircania,  in  folio, 
which  he  read  quite  through.  Yet  I  have  heard  him  attri- 
bute to  these  extravagant  fictions  that  unsettled  turn  of 
mind  which  prevented  his  ever  fixing  in  any  profession.' 

1725 :  iBTAT.  16. — After  having  resided  for  some  time 
at  the  house  of  his  uncle,  Cornelius  Ford,  Johnson  was,  at 
the  age  of  fifteen,  removed  to  the  school  of  Stourbridge,  in 
Worcestershire,  of  which  Mr.  Wentworth  was  then  master. 
This  step  was  taken  by  the  advice  of  his  cousin,  the  Rever- 
end Mr.  Ford,  a  man  in  whom  both  talents  and  good  dis- 
positions were  disgraced  by  licentiousness,  but  who  was  a 
very  able  judge  of  what  was  right.  At  this  school  he  did 
not  receive  so  much  benefit  as  was  expected.  It  has  been 
said,  that  he  acted  in  the  capacity  of  an  assistant  to  Mr. 
Wentworth,  in  teaching  the  younger  boys.  'Mr.  Went- 
worth (he  told  me)  was  a  very  able  man,  but  an  idle  man, 
and  to  me  very  severe;  but  I  cannot  blame  him  much.  I 
was  then  a  big  boy;  he  saw  I  did  not  reverence  him;  and 
that  he  should  get  no  honour  by  me.  I  had  brought  enough 
with  me,  to  carry  me  through;  and  all  I  should  get  at  his 
school  would  be  ascribed  to  my  own  labour,  or  to  my  former 
master.    Yet  he  taught  me  a  great  deal.' 

He  thus  discrmiinated,  to  Dr.  Percy,  Bishop  of  Dromore, 
his  progress  at  his  two  grammar-schools.  'At  one,  I  learnt 
much  in  the  school,  but  little  from  the  master;  in  the  other, 
I  learnt  much  from  the  master,  but  little  in  the  school.' 

He  remained  at  Stourbridge  little  more  than  a  year,  and 
then  returned  home,  where  he  may  be  said  to  have  loitered, 
for  two  years,  in  a  state  very  unworthy  his  uncommon 
abilities.  He  had  already  given  several  proofs  of  his  poetical 
genius,  both  in  his  school-exercises  and  in  other  occasional 
compositions. 

He  had  no  settled  plan  of  life,  nor  looked  forward  at  all, 


12  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i728 

but  merely  lived  from  day  to  day.  Yet  he  rd^d  a  great 
deal  in  a  desultory  manner,  without  any  scheme  of  study, 
as  chance  threw  books  in  his  way,  and  inclination  directed 
him  through  them.  He  used  to  mention  one  curious  in- 
stance of  his  casual  reading,  when  but  a  boy.  Having 
imagined  that  his  brother  had  hid  some  apples  behind  a 
large  folio  upon  an  upper  shelf  in  his  father's  shop,  he  climbed 
up  to  search  for  them.  There  were  no  apples;  but  the  large 
folio  proved  to  be  Petrarch,  whom  he  had  seen  mentioned 
in  some  preface,  as  one  of  the  restorers  of  learning.  His 
curiosity  having  been  thus  excited,  he  sat  down  with  avid- 
ity, and  read  a  great  part  of  the  book.  What  he  read  dur- 
ing these  two  years  he  told  me,  was  not  works  of  mere  amuse- 
ment, 'not  voyages  and  travels,  but  all  Uterature,  Sir,  all 
ancient  writers,  all  manly:  though  but  little  Greek,  only 
some  of  Anacreon  and  Hesiod;  but  in  this  irregular  manner 
(added  he)  I  had  looked  into  a  great  many  books,  which  were 
not  commonly  known  at  the  Universities,  where  they  sel- 
dom read  any  books  but  what  are  put  into  their  hands  by 
their  tutors;  so  that  when  I  came  to  Oxford,  Dr.  Adams, 
now  master  of  Pembroke  College,  told  me  I  was  the  best 
qualified  for  the  University  that  he  had  ever  known  come 
there.' 

That  a  man  in  Mr.  Michael  Johnson's  circumstances 
should  think  of  sending  his  son  to  the  expensive  University 
of  Oxford,  at  his  own  charge,  seems  very  improbable.  The 
subject  was  too  delicate  to  question  Johnson  upon.  But 
I  have  been  assured  by  Dr.  Taylor  that  the  scheme  never 
would  have  taken  place  had  not  a  gentleman  of  Shropshire, 
one  of  his  schoolfellows,  spontaneously  undertaken  to  sup- 
port him  at  Oxford,  in  the  character  of  his  companion; 
though,  in  fact,  he  never  received  any  assistance  whatever 
from  that  gentleman. 

He,  however,  went  to  Oxford,  and  was  entered  a  Com- 
moner of  Pembroke  College  on  the  Slst  of  October,  1728, 
being  then  in  his  nineteenth  year. 

The  Reverend  Dr.  Adams,  who  afterwards  presided  over 
Pembroke  College  with  universal  esteem,  told  me  he  was 
present,  and  gave  me  some  account  of  what  passed  on  the 


1728]  JOHNSON  ENTERS  OXFORD  13 

night  of  Johnson's  arrival  at  Oxford.  On  that  evening,  his 
father,  who  had  anxiously  accompanied  him,  found  means 
to  have  him  introduced  to  Mr.  Jorden,  who  was  to  be  his 
tutor. 

His  father  seemed  very  full  of  the  merits  of  his  son,  and 
told  the  company  he  was  a  good  scholar,  and  a  poet,  and 
wrote  Latin  verses.  His  figure  and  manner  appeared 
strange  to  them;  but  he  behaved  modestly,  and  sat  silent, 
till  upon  something  which  occurred  in  the  course  of  con- 
versation, he  suddenly  struck  in  and  quoted  Macrobius; 
and  thus  he  gave  the  first  impression  of  that  more  extensive 
reading  in  which  he  had  indulged  himself. 

His  tutor,  Mr.  Jorden,  fellow  of  Pembroke,  was  not,  it 
seems,  a  man  of  such  abilities  as  we  should  conceive  requisite 
for  the  instructor  of  Samuel  Johnson,  who  gave  me  the  fol- 
lowing account  of  him.  'He  was  a  very  worthy  man,  but 
a  heaNy  man,  and  I  did  not  profit  much  by  his  instructions. 
Indeed,  I  did  not  attend  him  much.  The  first  day  after  I 
came  to  college  I  waited  upon  him,  and  then  staid  away 
four.  On  the  sixth,  Mr.  Jorden  asked  me  why  I  had  not 
attended.  I  answered  I  had  been  sliding  in  Christ-Church 
meadow.  And  this  I  said  with  as  much  nonchalance  as  I 
am  now  talking  to  you.  I  had  no  notion  that  I  was  wrong 
or  irreverent  to  my  tutor.  Boswell:  'That,  Sir,  was  great 
fortitude  of  mind.'    Johnson:  'No,  Sir;  stark  insensibility.' 

He  had  a  love  and  respect  for  Jorden,  not  for  his  litera- 
ture, but  for  his  worth.  'Whenever  (said  he)  a  young  man 
becomes  Jorden 's  pupil,  he  becomes  his  son.' 

Ha\'ing  given  a  si)ecimen  of  his  poetical  powers,  he  was 
asked  by  Mr.  Jorden,  to  translate  Pope's  Messiah  into  Latin 
verse,  as  a  Christmas  exerci.se.  He  performed  it  with  un- 
common rapidity,  and  in  .so  masterly  a  manner,  that  he  ob- 
tained great  applause  from  it,  which  ever  after  kept  him  high 
in  the  estimation  of  his  College,  and,  indeed,  of  all  the 
University. 

It  is  said,  that  Mr.  Pope  expressed  himself  concerning  it 
in  terms  of  strong  approbation.  Dr.  Taylor  told  me,  that 
it  was  first  printed  for  old  Mr.  Johnson,  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  son,  who  was  very  angry  when  he  heard  of  it. 


14  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1729 

The  'morbid  melancholy,'  which  was  lurking  in  his  con- 
stitution, and  to  which  we  may  ascribe  those  particulari- 
ties, and  that  aversion  to  regular  life,  which,  at  a  very  early 
period,  marked  his  character,  gathered  such  strength  in  his 
twentieth  year,  as  to  afflict  him  in  a  dreadful  manner.  While 
he  was  at  Lichfield,  in  the  college  vacation  of  the  year  1729, 
he  felt  himself  overwhelmed  with  an  horrible  hypochondria, 
with  perpetual  irritation,  fretfulness,  and  impatience;  and 
with  a  dejection,  gloom,  and  despair,  which  made  existence 
misery.  From  this  dismal  malady  he  never  afterwards  was 
perfectly  relieved;  and  all  his  labours,  and  all  his  enjoyments, 
were  but  temporary  interruptions  of  its  baleful  influence. 
He  told  Mr.  Paradise  that  he  was  sometimes  so  languid 
and  inefficient,  that  he  could  not  distinguish  the  hour  upon 
the  town-clock. 

Johnson,  upon  the  first  violent  attack  of  this  disorder, 
strove  to  overcome  it  by  forcible  exertions.  He  frequently 
walked  to  Birmingham  and  back  again,  and  tried  many 
other  expedients,  but  all  in  vain.  His  expression  concern- 
ing it  to  me  was  'I  did  not  then  know  how  to  manage  it.' 
His  distress  became  so  intolerable,  that  he  applied  to  Dr. 
Swinfen,  physician  in  Lichfield,  his  god-father,  and  put  into 
his  hands  a  state  of  his  case,  written  in  Latin.  Dr.  Swinfen 
was  so  much  struck  T\'ith  the  extraordinary  acuteness,  re- 
search, and  eloquence  of  this  paper,  that  in  his  zeal  for  his 
godson  he  shewed  it  to  several  people.  His  daughter,  Mrs. 
Desmoulins,  who  was  many  years  humanely  supported  in 
Dr.  Johnson's  house  in  London,  told  me,  that  upon  his  dis- 
covering that  Dr.  Swinfen  had  communicated  his  case,  he 
was  so  much  offended,  that  he  was  never  afterwards  fully 
reconciled  to  him.  He  indeed  had  good  reason  to  be  offended ; 
for  though  Dr.  Swinfen's  motive  was  good,  he  inconsider- 
ately betrayed  a  matter  deeply  interesting  and  of  great 
delicacy,  which  had  been  entrusted  to  him  in  confidence; 
and  exposed  a  complaint  of  his  young  friend  and  patient, 
which,  in  the  superficial  opinion  of  the  generality  of  man- 
kind, is  attended  with  contempt  and  disgrace. 

To  Johnson,  whose  supreme  enjoyment  was  the  exercise 
of  his  reason,  the  disturbance  or  obscuration  of  that  faculty 


17291        JOHNSON'S  DREAD  OF  INSANITY  15 

was  the  evil  most  to  be  dreaded.  Insanity,  therefore,  was 
the  object  of  his  most  dismal  apprehension;  and  he  fancied 
himself  seized  by  it,  or  approaching  to  it,  at  the  very  time 
when  he  was  giving  proofs  of  a  more  than  ordinary  sound- 
ness and  vigour  of  judgement.  That  his  own  diseased 
imagination  should  have  so  far  deceived  him,  is  strange; 
but  it  is  stranger  still  that  some  of  his  friends  should  have 
given  credit  to  his  groundless  opinion,  when  they  had  such 
undoubted  proofs  that  it  was  totally  fallacious;  though  it  is 
by  no  means  surprising  that  those  who  wish  to  depreciate 
him,  should,  since  his  death,  have  laid  hold  of  this  circum- 
stance, and  insisted  upon  it  with  very  unfair  aggravation. 

The  history  of  his  mind  as  to  religion  is  an  important 
article.  I  have  mentioned  the  early  impressions  made  upon 
his  tender  imagination  by  his  mother,  who  continued  her 
pious  care  with  assiduity,  but,  in  his  opinion,  not  with  judge- 
ment. 'Sunday  (said  he)  was  a  heavy  day  to  me  when  I 
was  a  boy.  My  mother  confined  me  on  that  day,  and  made 
me  read  "The  Whole  Duty  of  Man,"  from  a  great  part  of 
which  I  could  derive  no  instruction.  When,  for  instance,  I 
had  read  the  chapter  on  theft,  which  from  my  infancy  I  had 
been  taught  was  wrong,  I  was  no  more  convinced  that  theft 
was  wrong  than  before;  so  there  was  no  accession  of  knowl- 
edge. A  boy  should  be  introduced  to  such  books,  by  having 
his  attention  directed  to  the  arrangement,  to  the  style,  and 
other  excellencies  of  composition;  that  the  mind  being  thus 
engaged  by  an  amusing  variety  of  objects,  may  not  grow 
weary.' 

He  communicated  to  me  the  following  particulars  upon 
the  subject  of  his  religious  progress.  'I  fell  into  an  inatten- 
tion to  religion,  or  an  indifference  about  it,  in  my  ninth  year. 
The  church  at  Lichfield,  in  which  we  had  a  seat,  wanted 
reparation,  so  I  was  to  go  and  find  a  seat  in  other  churches; 
and  having  bad  eyes,  and  being  awkward  about  this,  I  used 
to  go  and  read  in  the  fields  on  Sunday.  This  habit  con- 
tinued till  my  fourteenth  year;  and  still  I  find  a  great  re- 
luctance to  go  to  church.  I  then  liecame  a  sort  of  lax  talker 
against  religion,  for  I  did  not  much  think  against  it;  and 
this  lasted  till  I  went  to  Oxford,  where  it  would  not  be  suf- 


16  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1729 

fered.  When  at  Oxford,  I  took  up  Law's  Serious  Call  to  a 
Holy  Life,  expecting  to  find  it  a  dull  book  (as  such  books 
generally  are),  and  perhaps  to  laugh  at  it.  But  I  found  Law 
quite  an  overmatch  for  me;  and  this  was  the  first  occasion 
of  my  thinking  in  earnest  of  religion,  after  I  became  capable 
of  rational  inquiry.'  From  this  time  forward  religion  was 
the  predominant  object  of  his  thoughts;  though,  with  the 
just  sentiments  of  a  conscientious  Christian,  he  lamented 
that  his  practice  of  its  duties  fell  far  short  of  what  it  ought 
to  be. 

The  particular  course  of  his  reading  while  at  Oxford,  and 
during  the  time  of  vacation  which  he  passed  at  home,  can- 
not be  traced.  Enough  has  been  said  of  his  irregular  mode 
of  study.  He  told  me  that  from  his  earliest  years  he  loved 
to  read  poetry,  but  hardly  ever  read  any  poem  to  an  end; 
that  he  read  Shakspeare  at  a  period  so  early,  that  the 
speech  of  the  ghost  in  Hamlet  terrified  him  when  he  was 
alone;  that  Horace's  Odes  were  the  compositions  in  which 
he  took  most  delight,  and  it  was  long  before  he  liked  his 
Epistles  and  Satires.  He  told  me  what  he  read  solidly  at 
Oxford  was  Greek;  not  the  Grecian  historians,  but  Homer 
and  Euripides,  and  now  and  then  a  little  Epigram;  that 
the  study  of  which  he  was  the  most  fond  was  Metaphysicks, 
but  he  had  not  read  much,  even  in  that  way.  I  always 
thought  that  he  did  himself  injustice  in  his  account  of  what 
he  had  read,  and  that  he  must  have  been  speaking  with 
reference  to  the  vast  portion  of  study  which  is  possible,  and 
to  which  a  few  scholars  in  the  whole  history  of  literature 
have  attained;  for  when  I  once  asked  him  whether  a  person, 
whose  name  I  have  now  forgotten,  studied  hard,  he  answered 
*No,  Sir;  I  do  not  believe  he  studied  hard.  I  never  knew 
a  man  who  studied  hard.  I  conclude,  indeed,  from  the 
effects,  that  some  men  have  studied  hard,  as  Bentley  and 
Clarke.'  Trying  him  by  that  criterion  upon  which  he  formed 
his  judgement  of  others,  we  may  be  absolutely  certain,  both 
from  his  writings  and  his  conversation,  that  his  reading  was 
very  extensive.  Dr.  Adam  Smith,  than  whom  few  were 
better  judges  on  this  subject,  once  observed  to  me  that 
'Johnson  knew  more  books  than  any  man  aliVe.'     He  had  a 


1729]    HIS  RAPID  READING  AND  COMPOSITION     17 

peculiar  facility  in  seizing  at  once  what  was  valuable  in  any 
book,  without  submitting  to  the  labour  of  perusing  it  from 
beginning  to  end.  He  had,  from  the  irritability  of  his  con- 
stitution, at  all  times,  an  impatience  and  hurry  when  he 
either  read  or  wrote.  A  certain  apprehension,  arising  from 
novelty,  made  him  write  his' first  exercise  at  College  twice 
over;  but  he  never  took  that  trouble  with  any  other  com- 
position; and  we  shall  see  that  his  most  excellent  works 
were  struck  off  at  a  heat,  with  rapid  exertion. 

No  man  had  a  more  ardent  love  of  literature,  or  a  higher 
respect  for  it  than  Johnson.  His  apartment  in  Pembroke 
College  was  that  upon  the  second  floor,  over  the  gateway. 
The  enthusiasts  of  learning  will  ever  contemplate  it  with 
veneration.  One  day,  while  he  was  sitting  in  it  quite  alone, 
Dr.  Panting,  then  master  of  the  College,  whom  he  called  'a 
fine  Jacobite  fellow,'  overheard  him  uttering  this  soUloquy 
in  his  strong,  emphatick  voice:  'Well,  I  have  a  mind  to  see 
what  is  done  in  other  places  of  learning.  I'll  go  and  visit 
the  Universities  abroad.  I'll  go  to  France  and  Italy.  I'll 
go  to  Padua. — And  I'll  mind  my  business.  For  an  Athenian 
blockhead  is  the  worst  of  aU  blockheads.' 

Dr.  Adams  told  me  that  Johnson,  while  he  was  at  Pem- 
broke College,  'was  caressed  and  loved  by  all  about  him, 
was  a  gay  and  frolicksome  fellow,  and  passed  there  the 
happiest  part  of  his  life.'  But  this  is  a  striking  proof  of 
the  fallacy  of  appearances,  and  how  little  any  of  us  know 
of  the  real  internal  state  even  of  those  whom  we  see  most 
frequently;  for  the  truth  is,  that  he  was  then  depressed  by 
poverty,  and  irritated  by  disease.  When  I  mentioned  to 
him  this  account  as  given  me  by  Dr.  Adams,  he  said,  'Ah, 
Sir,  I  was  mad  and  violent.  It  was  bitterness  which  they 
mistook  for  frolick.  I  was  miserably  poor,  and  I  thought  .to 
fight  my  way  by  my  literature  and  my  wit;  so  I  disregarded 
all  power  and  all  authority.' 

The  Bishop  of  Dromore  observes  in  a  letter  to  me, 

'The  pleasure  he  took  in  vexing  the  tutors  and  fellows 
has  been  often  mentioned.  But  I  have  heard  him  say, 
what  ought  to  be  recorded  to  the  honour  of  the  present 
venerable  master  of  that  College,  the  Reverend  William 


18  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1730 

Adams,  D.D.,  who  was  then  very  young,  and  one  of  the 
junior  fellows;  that  the  mild  but  judicious  expostulations 
of  this  worthy  man,  whose  virtue  awed  him,  and  whose 
learning  he  revered,  made  him  really  ashamed  of  himself^ 
"though  I  fear  (said  he)  I  was  too  proud  to  own  it." 

'  I  have  heard  from  some  of  his  cotemporaries  that  he 
was  generally  seen  lounging  at  the  College  gate,  with  a  circle^ 
of  young  students  round  him,  whom  he  was  entertaining 
with  wit,  and  keeping  from  their  studies,  if  not  spiriting 
them  up  to  rebellion  against  the  College  discipline,  which  in. 
his  maturer  years  he  so  much  extolled.' 

I  do  not  find  that  he  formed  any  close  intimacies  with  his 
fellow-collegians.  But  Dr.  Adams  told  me  that  he  con- 
tracted a  love  and  regard  for  Pembroke  College,  which  he 
retained  to  the  last.  A  short  time  before  his  death  he  sent 
to  that  College  a  present  of  all  his  works,  to  be  deposited  in 
their  library;  and  he  had  thoughts  of  leaving  to  it  his  house 
at  Lichfield;  but  his  friends  who  were  about  him  very 
properly  dissuaded  him  from  it,  and  he  bequeathed  it  to 
some  poor  relations.  He  took  a  pleasure  in  boasting  of  the 
many  eminent  men  who  had  been  educated  at  Pembroke. 
In  this  list  are  found  the  names  of  Mr.  Hawkins  the  Poetry 
Professor,  Mr.  Shenstone,  Sir  William  Blackstone,  and 
others;  not  forgetting  the  celebrated  popular  preacher,  Mr. 
George  Whitefield,  of  whom,  though  Dr.  Johnson  did  not 
think  very  highly,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  his  eloquence 
was  powerful,  his  views  pious  and  charitable,  his  assiduity 
almost  incredible;  and,  that  since  his  death,  the  integrity  of 
his  character  has  been  fully  vindicated.  Being  himself  a 
poet,  Johnson  was  peculiarly  happy  in  mentioning  how  many 
of  the  sons  of  Pembroke  were  poets;  adding,  with  a  smile  of 
sportive  triumph,  'Sir,  we  are  a  nest  of  singing  birds.' 

He  was  not,  however,  blind  to  what  he  thought  the  de- 
fects of  his  own  College;  and  I  have,  from  the  information 
of  Dr.  Taylor,  a  very  strong  instance  of  that  rigid  honesty 
which  he  ever  inflexibly  preserved.  Taylor  had  obtained 
his  father's  consent  to  be  entered  of  Pembroke,  that  he 
might  be  with  his  schoolfellow  Johnson,  with  whom,  though 
some  years  older  than  himself,  he  was  very  intimate.     This 


1731]  JOHNSON  LEAVES  OXFORD  19 

would  have  been  a  great  comfort  to  Johnson.  But  he  fairly 
told  Taylor  that  he  could  not,  in  conscience,  suffer  him  to 
enter  where  he  knew  he  could  not  have  an  able  tutor.  He 
then  made  inquiry  all  round  the  University,  and  having 
found  that  Mr.  Bateman,  of  Christ  Church,  was  the  tutor  of 
highest  reputation,  Taylor  was  entered  of  that  College. 
Mr.  Bateman's  lectures  were  so  excellent,  that  Johnson  used 
to  come  and  get  them  at  second-hand  from  Taylor,  till  his 
poverty  being  so  extreme  that  his  shoes  were  worn  out,  and 
his  feet  appeared  through  them,  he  saw  that  this  humiliat- 
ing circumstance  was  perceived  by  the  Christ  Church  men, 
and  he  came  no  more.  He  was  too  proud  to  accept  of  money, 
and  somebody  having  set  a  pair  of  new  shoes  at  his  door, 
he  threw  them  away  with  indignation.  How  must  we  feel 
when  we  read  such  an  anecdote  of  Samuel  Johnson ! 

The  res  angusta  domi  prevented  him  from  having  the  ad- 
vantage of  a  complete  academical  education.  The  friend 
to  whom  he  had  trusted  for  support  had  deceived  him.  His 
debts  in  College,  though  not  great,  were  increasing;  and  his 
scanty  remittances  from  Lichfield,  which  had  all  along  been 
made  with  great  difficulty,  could  be  supplied  no  longer,  his 
father  having  fallen  into  a  state  of  insolvency.  Compelled, 
therefore,  by  irresistible  necessity,  he  left  the  College  in 
autumn,  1731,  without  a  degree,  having  been  a  member  of 
it  little  more  than  three  years. 

And  now  (I  had  almost  said  poor)  Samuel  Johnson  returned 
to  his  native  city,  destitute,  and  not  knowing  how  he  should 
gain  even  a  decent  livelihood.  His  father's  misfortunes  in 
trade  rendered  him  unable  to  support  his  son;  and  for  some 
time  there  appeared  no  means  by  which  he  could  maintain 
himself.    In  the  December  of  this  year  his  father  died. 

Johnson  was  so  far  fortunate,  that  the  respectable  charac- 
ter of  his  parents,  and  his  own  merit,  had,  from  his  earliest 
years,  secured  him  a  kind  reception  in  the  best  families  at 
Lichfield.  Among  these  I  can  mention  Mr.  Howard,  Dr. 
Swinfen,  Mr.  Simpson,  Mr.  Levett,  Captain  Garrick,  father 
of  the  great  ornament  of  the  British  stage;  but  above  all, 
Mr.  Gilbert  Walmsley,  Register  of  the  Prerogative  Court 
of  Lichfield,  whose  character,  long  after  his  decease.  Dr. 


20  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1732 

Johnson  has,  in  his  Life  of  Edmund  Smith,  thus  drawn  in 
the  glowing  colours  of  gratitude: 

'  Of  Gilbert  Walmsley,  thus  presented  to  my  mind,  let  me 
indulge  myself  in  the  remembrance.  I  knew  him  very 
early;  he  was  one  of  the  first  friends  that  literature  pro- 
cured me,  and  I  hope  that,  at  least,  my  gratitude  made  me 
worthy  of  his  notice. 

'He  was  of  an  advanced  age,  and  I  was  only  not  a  boy, 
yet  he  never  received  my  notions  with  contempt.  He  was 
a  whig,  with  all  the  virulence  and  malevolence  of  his  party; 
yet  difference  of  opinion  did  not  keep  us  apart.  I  honoured 
him  and  he  endured  me. 

'At  this  man's  table  I  enjoyed  many  cheerful  and  instruc- 
tive hours,  with  companions,  such  as  are  not  often  found — 
with  one  who  has  lengthened,  and  one  who  has  gladdened 
life;  with  Dr.  James,  whose  skill  in  physick  will  be  long  re- 
membered; and  with  David  Garrick,  whom  I  hop>ed  to  have 
gratified  mth  this  character  of  our  common  friend.  But 
what  are  the  hopes  of  man !  I  am  disappointed  by  that 
stroke  of  death,  which  has  eclipsed  the  gaiety  of  nations, 
and  impoverished  the  publick  stock  of  harmless  pleasure.' 

In  these  families  he  passed  much  time  in  his  early  years. 
In  most  of  them,  he  was  in  the  company  of  ladies,  particu- 
larly at  Mr.  Walmsley's,  whose  wife  and  sisters-in-law,  of 
the  name  of  Aston,  and  daughters  of  a  Baronet,  were  remark- 
able for  good  breeding;  so  that  the  notion  which  has  been 
industriously  circulated  and  believed,  that  he  never  was  in 
good  company  till  late  in  life,  and,  consequently  had  been 
confirmed  in  coarse  and  ferocious  manners  by  long  habits, 
is  wholly  without  foundation.  Some  of  the  ladies  have  as- 
sured me,  they  recollected  him  well  when  a  young  man,  as 
distinguished  for  his  complaisance. 

In  .the  forlorn  state  of  his  circumstances,  he  accepted  of 
an  offer  to  be  employed  as  usher  in  the  school  of  Market- 
Bosworth,  in  Leicestershire,  to  which  it  appears,  from  one 
of  his  little  fragments  of  a  diary,  that  he  went  on  foot,  on 
the  16th  of  July. 

This  employment  was  very  irksome  to  him  in  every  re- 
spect, and  he  complained  grievously  of  it  in  his  letters  to 


1732]  LIFE  IN  BIRMINGHAM  21 

his  friend  Mr.  Hector,  who  was  now  settled  as  a  surgeon 
at  Birmingham.  The  letters  are  lost;  but  Mr.  Hector  rec- 
ollects his  writing  'that  the  poet  had  described  the  dull 
sameness  of  his  existence  in  these  words,  "  Vitam  continet 
una  dies^'  (one  day  contains  the  whole  of  my  life);  that  it 
was  unvaried  as  the  note  of  the  cuckow;  and  that  he  did  not 
know  whether  it  was  more  disagreeable  for  him  to  teach,  or 
the  boys  to  learn,  the  granmiar  rules.'  His  general  aversion 
to  this  painful  drudgery  was  greatly  enhanced  by  a  disagree- 
ment between  him  and  Sir  Wolstan  Dixey,  the  patron  of 
the  school,  in  whose  house,  I  have  been  told,  he  officiated  as 
a  kind  of  domestick  chaplain,  so  far,  at  least,  as  to  say  grace 
at  table,  but  was  treated  with  what  he  represented  as  in- 
tolerable harshness;  and,  after  suffering  for  a  few  months 
such  complicated  misery,  he  relinquished  a  situation  which 
all  his  life  afterwards  he  recollected  with  the  strongest  aver- 
sion, and  even  a  degree  of  horrour.  But  it  is  probable  that 
at  this  period,  whatever  uneasiness  he  may  have  endured, 
he  laid  the  foundation  of  much  future  eminence  by  applica- 
tion to  his  studies. 

Being  now  again  totally  unoccupied,  he  was  invited  by 
Mr.  Hector  to  pass  some  time  with  him  at  Birmingham,  as 
his  guest,  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Warren,  with  whom  Mr. 
Hector  lodged  and  boarded.  Mr.  Warren  was  the  first 
established  bookseller  in  Birmingham,  and  was  very  atten- 
tive to  Johnson,  who  he  soon  found  could  be  of  much  ser- 
vice to  him  in  his  trade,  by  his  knowledge  of  literature;  and 
he  even  obtained  the  assistance  of  his  pen  in  furnishing 
some  numbers  of  a  periodical  Essay  printed  in  the  news- 
paper, of  which  Warren  was  proprietor.  After  very  dili- 
gent inquiry,  I  have  not  been  able  to  recover  those  early 
specimens  of  that  particular  mode  of  w^riting  by  which 
Johnson  afterwards  so  greatly  distinguished  himself. 

He  continued  to  live  as  Mr.  Hector's  guest  for  about  six 
months,  and  then  hired  lodgings  in  another  part  of  the  town,, 
finding  himself  as  well  situated  at  Birmingham  as  he  sup- 
posed he  could  be  any  where,  while  he  had  no  settled  plan 
of  life,  and  very  scanty  means  of  subsistence.  He  made 
some  valuable  acquaintances  there,   amongst  whom  were 


22  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1734 

Mr.  Porter,  a  mercer,  whose  widow  he  afterwards  married, 
and  Mr.  Taylor,  who  by  his  ingenuity  in  mechanical  inven- 
tions, and  his  success  in  trade,  acquired  an  immense  fortune. 
But  the  comfort  of  being  near  Mr.  Hector,  his  old  school- 
fellow and  intimate  friend,  was  Johnson's  chief  inducement 
to  continue  here. 

His  juvenile  attachments  to  the  fair  sex  were  very  tran- 
sient ;  and  it  is  certain  that  he  formed  no  criminal  connection 
whatsoever.  Mr.  Hector,  who  lived  with  him  in  his  younger 
days  in  the  utmost  intimacy  and  social  freedom,  has  assured 
me,  that  even  at  that  ardent  season  his  conduct  was  strictly 
virtuous  in  that  respect;  and  that  though  he  loved  to  ex- 
hilarate himself  with  wine,  he  never  knew  him  intoxicated 
but  once. 

In  a  man  whom  religious  education  has  secured  from 
licentious  indulgences,  the  passion  of  love,  when  once  it 
has  seized  him,  is  exceedingly  strong;  being  unimpaired  by 
dissipation,  and  totally  concentrated  in  one  object.  This 
was  experienced  by  Johnson,  when  he  became  the  fervent 
admirer  of  Mrs.  Porter,  after  her  first  husband's  death. 
Miss  Porter  told  me,  that  when  he  was  first  introduced  to 
her  mother,  his  appearance  was  very  forbidding:  he  was 
then  lean  and  lank,  so  that  his  immense  structure  of  bones 
was  hideously  striking  to  the  eye,  and  the  scars  of  the  scroph- 
ula  were  deeply  visible.  He  also  wore  his  hair,  which  was 
straight  and  stiff,  and  separated  behind:  and  he  often  had, 
seemingly,  convulsive  starts  and  odd  gesticulations,  which 
tended  to  excite  at  once  surprize  and  ridicule.  Mrs.  Porter 
was  so  much  engaged  by  his  conversation  that  she  overlooked 
all  these  external  disadvantages,  and  said  to  her  daughter, 
''this  is  the  most  sensible  man  that  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.' 

Though  Mrs.  Porter  was  double  the  age  of  Johnson,  and 
her  person  and  manner,  as  described  to  me  by  the  late  Mr. 
Garrick,  were  by  no  means  pleasing  to  others,  she  must  have 
had  a  superiority  of  understanding  and  talents,  as  she  cer- 
tainly inspired  him  with  a  more  than  ordinary  passion ;  and 
she  having  signified  her  willingness  to  accept  of  his  hand, 
he  went  to  Lichfield  to  ask  his  mother's  consent  to  the 
marriage,  which  he  could  not  but  be  conscious  was  a  very 


17351  JOHNSON'S  MARRIAGE  23 

imprudent  scheme,  both  on  account  of  their  disparity  of 
years,  and  her  want  of  fortune.  But  Mrs.  Johnson  knew 
too  well  the  ardour  of  her  son's  temper,  and  was  too  tender 
a  parent  to  oppose  his  inclinations. 

I  know  not  for  what  reason  the  marriage  ceremony  was 
not  performed  at  Birmingham;  but  a  resolution  was  taken 
that  it  should  be  at  Derby,  for  which  place  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  set  out  on  horseback,  I  suppose  in  very  good 
humour.  But  though  Mr.  Topham  Beauclerk  used  archly 
to  mention  Johnson's  having  told  him,  with  much  gravity, 
'Sir,  it  was  a  love  marriage  on  both  sides,'  I  have  had  from 
my  illustrious  friend  the  following  curious  account  of  their 
journey  to  church  upon  the  nuptial  morn: 

9th  July: — 'Sir,  she  had  read  the  old  romances,  and  had 
got  into  her  head  the  fantastical  notion  that  a  woman  of 
spirit  should  use  her  lover  like  a  dog.  So,  Sir,  at  first  she 
told  me  that  I  rode  too  fast,  and  she  could  not  keep  up  with 
me;  and,  when  I  rode  a  little  slower,  she  passed  me,  and 
complained  that  I  lagged  behind.  I  was  not  to  be  made 
the  slave  of  caprice;  and  I  resolved  to  begin  as  I  meant  to 
end.  I  therefore  pushed  on  briskly,  till  I  was  fairly  out  of 
her  sight.  The  road  lay  between  two  hedges,  so  I  was  sure 
she  could  not  miss  it;  and  I  contrived  that  she  should  soon 
come  up  with  me.  When  she  did,  I  observed  her  to  be  in 
tears.' 

This,  it  must  be  allowed,  was  a  singular  beginning  of  con- 
nubial felicity;  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  Johnson,  though 
he  thus  shewed  a  manly  firmness,  proved  a  most  affectionate 
and  indulgent  husband  to  the  last  moment  of  Mrs,  Johnson's 
life:  and  in  his  Prayers  and  Meditations,  we  find  very  re- 
markable evidence  that  his  regard  and  fondness  for  her 
never  ceased,  even  after  her  death. 

He  now  set  up  a  private  academy,  for  which  purpose  he 
hired  a  large  house,  well  situated  near  his  native  city.  In 
the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  1736,  there  is  the  following 
advertisement : 

'At  Edial,  near  Lichfield,  in  Staffordshire,  young  gentle- 
men are  boarded  and  taught  the  Latin  and  Greek  languages, 
by  Samuel  Johnson.' 


24  LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [i736 

But  the  only  pupils  that  were  put  under  his  care  were  the 
celebrated  David  Garrick  and  his  brother  George,  and  a 
Mr.  Offely,  a  young  gentleman  of  good  fortune  who  died 
early.  The  truth  is,  that  he  was  not  so  well  qualified  for 
being  a  teacher  of  elements,  and  a  conductor  in  learning 
by  regular  gradations,  as  men  of  inferiour  powers  of  mind. 
His  own  acquisitions  had  been  made  by  fits  and  starts, 
by  violent  irruptions  into  the  regions  of  knowledge;  and 
it  could  not  be  expected  that  his  impatience  would  be  sub- 
dued, and  his  impetuosity  restrained,  so  as  to  fit  him  for 
a  quiet  guide  to  novices. 

Johnson  was  not  more  satisfied  with  his  situation  as  the 
master  of  an  academy,  than  with  that  of  the  usher  of  a 
school;  we  need  not  wonder,  therefore,  that  he  did  not 
keep  his  academy  above  a  year  and  a  half.  From  Mr. 
Garrick's  account  he  did  not  appear  to  have  been  profoundly 
reverenced  by  his  pupils.  His  oddities  of  manner,  and  un- 
couth gesticulations,  could  not  but  be  the  subject  of  merri- 
ment to  them;  and,  in  particular,  the  young  rogues  used  to 
listen  at  the  door  of  his  bed-chamber,  and  peep  through  the 
key-hole,  that  they  might  turn  into  ridicule  his  tumultuous 
and  awkward  fondness  for  Mrs.  Johnson,  whom  he  used  to 
name  by  the  familiar  appellation  of  Tetty  or  Tetsey,  which, 
like  Betty  or  Betsey,  is  provincially  used  as  a  contraction  for 
Elisabeth,  her  christian  name,  but  which  to  us  seems  ludi- 
crous, when  applied  to  a  woman  of  her  age  and  appearance. 
Mr.  Garrick  described  her  to  me  as  very  fat,  with  a  bosom 
of  more  than  ordinary  protuberance,  with  swelled  cheeks  of 
a  florid  red,  produced  by  thick  painting,  and  increased  by 
the  liberal  use  of  cordials;  flaring  and  fantastick  in  her  dress, 
and  affected  both  in  her  speech  and  her  general  behaviour. 
I  have  seen  Garrick  exhibit  her,  by  his  exquisite  talent  of 
mimickry,  so  as  to  excite  the  heartiest  bursts  of  laughter; 
but  he,  probably,  as  is  the  case  in  all  such  representations, 
considerably  aggravated  the  picture. 

Johnson  now  thought  of  trying  his  fortune  in  London,  the 
great  field  of  genius  and  exertion,  where  talents  of  every 
kind  have  the  fullest  scope,  and  the  highest  encouragement. 
It  is  a  memorable  circumstance  that  his  pupil  David  Garrick 


17361  JOHNSON  GOES  TO  LONDON  25 

went  thither  at  the  same  time,'  with  intention  to  complete 
his  education,  and  follow  the  profession  of  the  law,  from 
which  he  was  soon  diverted  by  his  decided  preference  for  the 
stage. 

They  were  recommended  to  Mr.  Colson,  an  eminent 
mathematician  and  master  of  an  academy,  by  the  following 
letter  from  ^Ir.  Walmsley: 


'To  THE  Reverend  Mr.  Colson. 

'Lichfield,  March  2,  1737. 

'Dear  Sir,  I  had  the  favour  of  yours,  and  am  extremely 
obliged  to  you;  but  I  cannot  say  I  had  a  greater  affection 
for  you  upon  it  than  I  had  before,  being  long  since  so  much 
endeared  to  you,  as  well  by  an  early  friendship,  as  by  your 
many  excellent  and  valuable  qualifications;  and,  had  I  a 
son  of  my  own,  it  would  be  my  ambition,  instead  of  sending 
him  to  the  University,  to  dispose  of  him  as  this  young  gentle- 
man is. 

'He,  and  another  neighbour  of  mine,  one  Mr.  Samuel 
Johnson,  set  out  this  morning  for  London  together.  Davy 
Garrick  is  to  be  with  you  early  the  next  week,  and  Mr.  John- 
son to  trj'  his  fate  with  a  tragedy,  and  to  see  to  get  himself 
employed  in  some  translation,  either  from  the  Latin  or  the 
French.  Johnson  is  a  very  good  scholar  and  poet,  and  I 
have  great  hopes  will  turn  out  a  fine  tragedy-writer.  If  it 
should  any  way  lie  in  your  way,  doubt  not  but  you  would  be 
ready  to  recommend  and  assist  your  countryman. 

*G.  Walmsley.' 


>  Both  of  them  used  to  talk  pleasantly  of  this  their  first  journey  to 
London.  Garrick,  evidently  meaning  to  embellish  a  little,  said  one 
day  in  my  hearing,  '  we  rode  and  tied.'  And  the  BLshop  of  Killaloe 
Informed  me,  that  at  another  time,  when  Johnson  and  Garrick  were 
dining  together  in  a  pretty  large  company,  Johnson  humorously  as- 
certaining the  chronology  of  something,  expressed  himself  thus:  'that 
was  the  year  when  I  came  to  London  with  two-pence  half-penny  in 
my  pocket.'  Garrick  overhearing  him,  exclaimed,  'Eh?  what  do  you 
say?  with  two-pence  half-penny  in  your  pocket?' — Johnson,  'Why 
yes;  when  I  came  with  two- pence  half-penny  in  my  pocket,  and  thou. 
Davy,  with  three  half-pence  in  thine.' — Boswell. 


26  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1737 

How  he  employed  himself  upon  his  first  coming  to  Lon- 
don is  not  particularly  known.* 

He  had  a  little  money  when  he  came  to  town,  and  he 
knew  how  he  could  live  in  the  cheapest  manner.  His  first 
lodgings  were  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Norris,  a  staymaker,  in 
Exeter-street,  adjoining  Catharine-street,  in  the  Strand. 
'I  dined  (said  he)  very  well  for  eight-pence,  with  very  good 
company,  at  the  Pine  Apple  in  New-street,  just  by.  Several 
of  them  had  travelled.  They  expected  to  meet  every  day; 
but  did  not  know  one  another's  names.  It  used  to  cost  the 
rest  a  shilling,  for  they  drank  wine;  but  I  had  a  cut  of  meat 
for  six-pence,  and  bread  for  a  penny,  and  gave  the  waiter 
a  penny;  so  that  I  was  quite  well  served,  nay,  better  than 
the  rest,  for  they  gave  the  waiter  nothing.'  He  at  this  time, 
I  believe,  abstained  entirely  from  fermented  liquors:  a  prac- 
tice to  which  he  rigidly  conformed  for  many  years  together, 
at  different  periods  of  his  life. 

His  Ofellus  in  the  Art  of  Living  in  London,  I  have  heard 
him  relate,  was  an  Irish  painter,  whom  he  knew  at  Birming- 
ham, and  who  had  practised  his  own  precepts  of  ceconomy 
for  several  years  in  the  British  capital.  He  assured  John- 
son, who,  I  suppose,  was  then  meditating  to  try  his  fortune 
in  London,  but  was  apprehensive  of  the  expence,  'that  thirty 
pounds  a  year  was  enough  to  enable  a  man  to  live  there 
without  being  contemptible.  He  allowed  ten  pounds  for 
clothes  and  linen.  He  said  a  man  might  live  in  a  garret  at 
eighteen-pence  a  week;  few  people  would  inquire  where  he 
lodged;  and  if  they  did,  it  was  easy  to  say,  "Sir,  I  am  to  be 
found  at  such  a  place."  By  spending  three-pence  in  a  coffee- 
house, he  might  be  for  some  hours  every  day  in  very  good 
company;  he  might  dine  for  six-pence,  breakfast  on  bread 
and  milk  for  a  penny,  and  do  without  supper.  On  clean- 
shirt-day  he  went  abroad,  and  paid  visits.'  I  have  heard 
him  more  than  once  talk  of  this  frugal  friend,  whom  he 

1  One  curious  anecdote  was  communicated  by  himself  to  Mr.  John 
Nichols.  Mr.  Wilcox,  the  bookseller,  on  being  informed  by  him  that 
his  intention  was  to  get  his  livelihood  as  an  authour,  eyed  his  robust 
frame  attentively,  and  with  a  significant  look,  said,  'You  had  better 
buy  a  porter's  knot.'  He  however  added,  'Wilcox  was  one  of  my  best 
friends . ' — B  os  w  e  ll. 


1737]  RETURNS  TO  LICHFIELD  27 

recollected  with  esteem  and  kindness,  and  did  not  like  to 
have  one  smile  at  the  recital.  'This  man  (said  he,  gravely) 
was  a  very  sensible  man,  who  perfectly  understood  common 
affairs:  a  man  of  a  great  deal  of  knowledge  of  the  world, 
fresh  from  life,  not  strained  through  books.  He  amused 
himself,  I  remember,  by  computing  how  much  more  expence 
was  absolutely  necessary  to  live  upon  the  same  scale  with 
that  which  his  friend  described,  when  the  value  of  money 
was  diminished  by  the  progress  of  commerce.  It  may  be 
estimated  that  double  the  money  might  now  with  difficulty 
be  sufficient.* 

Amidst  this  cold  obscurity,  there  was  one  brilliant  circum- 
stance to  cheer  him ;  he  was  well  acquainted  with  Mr.  Henry 
Hervey,  one  of  the  branches  of  the  noble  family  of  that 
name,  who  had  been  quartered  at  Lichfield  as  an  oflficer  of 
the  army,  and  had  at  this  time  a  house  in  London,  where 
Johnson  was  frequently  entertained,  and  had  an  opportunity 
of  meeting  genteel  company.  Not  very  long  before  his 
death,  he  mentioned  this,  among  other  particulars  of  his 
life,  which  he  was  kindly  communicating  to  me;  and  he 
described  this  early  friend,  'Harry  Hervey,'  thus:  'He  was 
a  vicious  man,  but  very  kind  to  me.  If  you  call  a  dog 
Hervey,  I  shall  love  him.' 

He  told  me  he  had  now  wTitten  only  three  acts  of  his 
Irene,  and  that  he  retired  for  some  time  to  lodgings  at 
Greenwich,  where  he  proceeded  in  it  somewhat  further,  and 
used  to  compose,  walking  in  the  Park;  but  did  not  stay 
long  enough  at  that  place  to  finish  it. 

In  the  course  of  the  summer  he  returned  to  Lichfield, 
where  he  had  left  Mrs.  Johnson,  and  there  he  at  last  finished 
his  trag«iy,  which  was  not  executed  with  his  rapidity  of 
composition  upon  other  occasions,  but  was  slowly  and  pain- 
fully elaborated.  A  few  days  before  his  death,  while  burn- 
ing a  great  mass  of  papers,  he  picked  out  from  among  them 
the  original  unformed  sketch  of  this  tragedy,  in  his  own 
hand-writing,  and  gave  it  to  Mr.  Langton,  by  whose  favour 
a  copy  of  it  is  now  in  m^'  possession. 

Johnson's  residence  at  Lichfield,  on  his  return  to  it  at  this 
time,  was  only  for  three  months;  and  as  he  had  as  yet  seen 


28  LIFE   OF   DR.   JOHNSON  {1738 

but  a  small  part  of  the  wonders  of  the  Metropolis,  he  had 
little  to  tell  his  townsmen.  He  related  to  me  the  following 
minute  anecdote  of  this  period:  'In  the  last  age,  when  my 
mother  lived  in  London,  there  were  two  sets  of  people,  those 
who  gave  the  wall,  and  those  who  took  it;  the  peaceable 
and  the  quarrelsome.  When  I  returned  to  Lichfield,  after 
having  been  in  London,  my  mother  asked  me,  whether  I 
was  one  of  those  who  gave  the  wall,  or  those  who  took  it. 
Now  it  is  fixed  that  every  man  keeps  to  the  right ;  or,  if  one 
is  taking  the  wall,  another  yields  it;  and  it  is  never  a  dispute.' 

He  now  removed  to  London  with  Mrs.  Johnson;  but  her 
daughter,  who  had  lived  with  them  at  Edial,  was  left  with 
her  relations  in  the  country.  His  lodgings  were  for  some 
time  in  Woodstock-street,  near  Hanover-square,  and  after- 
wards in  Castle-street,  near  Cavendish-square. 

His  tragedy  being  by  this  time,  as  he  thought,  completely 
finished  and  fit  for  the  stage,  he  was  very  desirous  that  it 
should  be  brought  forward.  Mr.  Peter  Garrick  told  me, 
that  Johnson  and  he  went  together  to  the  Fountain  tavern, 
and  read  it  over,  and  that  he  afterwards  solicited  Mr.  Fleet- 
wood, the  patentee  of  Drury-lane  theatre,  to  have  it  acted 
at  his  house;  but  Mr.  Fleetwood  would  not  accept  it,  prob- 
ably because  it  wa's  not  patronized  by  some  man  of  high 
rank;  and  it  was  not  acted  till  1749,  when  his  friend  David 
Garrick  was  manager  of  that  theatre. 

The  Gentleman's  Magazine,  begun  and  carried  on  by  Mr. 
Edward  Cave,  under  the  name  of  Sylvanus  Urban,  had 
attracted  the  notice  and  esteem  of  Johnson,  in  an  eminent 
degree,  before  he  came  to  London  as  an  adventurer  in  litera- 
ture. He  told  me,  that  when  he  first  saw  St.  John's  Gate, 
the  place  where  that  deservedly  popular  miscellany  was 
originally  printed,  he  'beheld  it  with  reverence.' 

It  appears  that  he  was  now  enlisted  by  Mr.  Cave  as  a 
regular  coadjutor  in  his  magazine,  by  which  he  probably 
obtained  a  tolerable  livelihood.  At  what  time,  or  by  what 
means,  he  had  acquired  a  competent  knowledge  both  of 
French  and  Italian,  I  do  not  know;  but  he  was  so  well  skilled 
in  them,  as  to  be  sufficiently  qualified  for  a  translator.  That 
part  of  his  labour  which  consisted  in  emendation  and  im- 


17381  REPORTS  OF  THE  DEBATES  29 

provement  of  the  productions  of  other  contributors,  like 
that  employed  in  levelling  ground,  can  be  perceived  only  by 
those  who  had  an  opportunity  of  comparing  the  original 
with  the  altered  copy.  What  we  certainly  know  to  have 
been  done  by  him  in  this  way,  was  the  Debates  in  both 
houses  of  Parliament,  under  the  name  of  'The  Senate  of 
Lilliput,'  sometimes  with  feigned  denominations  of  the  sev- 
eral speakers,  sometimes  with  denominations  formed  of  the 
letters  of  their  real  names,  in  the  manner  of  what  is. called 
anagram,  so  that  they  might  easily  be  decyphered.  Parlia- 
ment then  kept  the  press  in  a  kind  of  mysterious  awe,  which 
made  it  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  such  devices.  In  our 
time  it  has  acquired  an  unrestrained  freedom,  so  that  the 
people  in  all  parts  of  the  kingdom  have  a  fair,  open,  and 
exact  report  of  the  actual  proceedings  of  their  representa- 
tives and  legislators,  which  in  our  constitution  is  highly  to 
be  valued;  though,  unquestionably,  there  has  of  late  been 
too  much  reason  to  complain  of  the  petulance  with  which 
obscure  scribblers  have  presumed  to  treat  men  of  the  most 
respectable  character  and  situation. 

This  important  article  of  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  was, 
for  several  years,  executed  by  Mr.  William  Guthrie,  a  man 
who  deserves  to  be  respectably  recorded  in  the  literary  an- 
nals of  this  country.  The  debates  in  Parliament,  which 
were  brought  home  and  digested  by  Guthrie,  whose  memory, 
though  surpassed  by  others  who  have  since  followed  him  in 
the  same  department,  was  yet  very  quick  and  tenacious, 
were  sent  by  Cave  to  Johnson  for  his  revision;  and,  after 
some  time,  when  Guthrie  had  attained  to  greater  variety 
of  employment,  and  the  speeches  were  more  and  more  en- 
riched by  the  accession  of  Johnson's  genius,  it  was  resolved 
that  he  should  do  the  whole  himself,  from  the  scanty  notes 
furnished  by  {persons  employed  to  attend  in  both  houses  of 
Parliament.  Sometimes,  however,  as  he  himself  told  me, 
he  had  nothing  more  communicated  to  him  than  the  names 
of  the  several  speakers,  and  the  part  which  they  had  taken 
in  the  debate.V 

•  Johnson  later  told  Boswell  that  '  as  soon  as  he  found  that  the 
speeches  were  thought  genuine,  he  determined  that  he  would  write 


30  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i73» 

But  what  first  displayed  his  transcendent  powers,  and 
'gave  the  world  assurance  of  the  Man,'  was  his  London,  a 
Poem,  in  Imitation  of  the  Third  Satire  of  Juvenal:  which 
came  out  in  May  this  year,  and  burst  forth  with  a  splendour^ 
the  rays  of  which  will  for  ever  encircle  his  name.  Boileau 
had  imitated  the  same  satire  with  great  success,  applying 
it  to  Paris;  but  an  attentive  comparison  will  satisfy  every 
reader,  that  he  is  much  excelled  by  the  English  Juvenal. 
Oldham  had  also  imitated  it,  and  applied  it  to  London;"  all 
which  performances  concur  to  prove,  that  great  cities,  ia 
every  age,  and  in  every  country,  will  furnish  similar  topicks 
of  satire.  Whether  Johnson  had  previously  read  Oldham's 
imitation,  I  do  not  know;  but  it  is  not  a  little  remarkable, 
that  there  is  scarcely  any  coincidence  found  between  the 
two  jjerformances,  though  upon  the  very  same  subject. 

Johnson's  London  was  published  in  May,  1738;  and  it  is 
remarkable,  that  it  came  out  on  the  same  morning  with 
Pope's  satire,  entitled  '1738;'  so  that  England  had  at  once 
its  Juvenal  and  Horace  as  poetical  monitors.  The  Reverend 
Dr.  Douglas,  now  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  to  whom  I  am  in- 
debted for  some  obliging  communications,  was  then  a  stu- 
dent at  Oxford,  and  remembers  well  the  effect  which  London 
produced.  Every  body  was  delighted  with  it;  and  there 
being  no  name  to  it,  the  first  buz  of  the  literary  circles  was 
'here  is  an  unknown  poet,  greater  even  than  Pope.'  And  it 
is  recorded  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  of  that  year,  that  it 
'got  to  the  second  edition  in  the  course  of  a  week.' 

One  of  the  warmest  patrons  of  this  poem  on  its  first  aj>- 
pearance  was  General  Oglethorpe,  whose  'strong  benevo- 
lence of  soul,'  was  unabated  during  the  course  of  a  very  long 
life;  though  it  is  painful  to  think,  that  he  had  but  too  much 
reason  to  become  cold  and  callous,  and  discontented  with 
the  world,  from  the  neglect  which  he  experienced  of  his 
publick  and  private  worth,  by  those  in  whose  power  it  was 
to  gratify  so  gallant  a  veteran  with  marks  of  distinction. 

no  more  of  them;  for  "he  would  not  be  accessary  to  the  propagation, 
of  falsehood."  And  such  was  the  tenderness  of  his  conscience,  that  a. 
short  time  before  his  death  he  expressed  his  regret  for  his  having  been, 
the  authoiu"  of  Actions  which  had  passed  for  realities.* — Ed. 


17381  HIS  POEM,  LONDON  31 

This  extraordinary  person  was  as  remarkable  for  his  learning 
and  taste,  as  for  his  other  eminent  qualities;  and  no  man 
was  more  prompt,  active,  and  generous,  in  encouraging 
merit.  I  have  heard  Johnson  gratefully  acknowledge,  in  his 
presence,  the  kind  and  effectual  support  which  he  gave  to 
his  London,  though  unacquainted  with  its  authour. 

Pope,  who  then  filled  the  poetical  throne  without  a  rival, 
it  may  reasonably  be  presumed,  must  have  been  particularly 
struck  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  such  a  jx)et;  and,  to  his 
credit,  let  it  be  remembered,  that  his  feelings  and  conduct 
on  the  occasion  were  candid  and  liberal.  He  requested  Mr. 
Richardson,  son  of  the  painter,  to  endeavour  to  find  out 
who  this  new  authour  was.  Mr.  Richardson,  after  some  in- 
quiry, having  informed  him  that  he  had  discovered  only  that 
his  name  was  Johnson,  and  that  he  was  some  obscure  man, 
Pope  said,  'he  will  soon  be  dUerr^.'  We  shall  presently  see, 
from  a  note  written  by  Pope,  that  he  was  himself  after- 
wards more  successful  in  his  inquiries  than  his  friend. 

While  we  admire  the  poetical  excellence  of  this  poem, 
candour  obliges  us  to  allow,  that  the  flame  of  patriotism  and 
zeal  for  popular  resistance  with  which  it  is  fraught,  had  no 
just  cause.  There  was,  in  truth,  no  'oppression;'  the  'na- 
tion' was  not  'cheated.'  Sir  Robert  Walpole  was  a  wise  and 
a  benevolent  minister,  who  thought  that  the  happiness  and 
prosperity  of  a  commercial  country  like  ours,  would  be  best 
promoted  by  peace,  which  he  accordingly  maintained,  with 
credit,  during  a  very  long  period.  Johnson  himself  after- 
wards honestly  acknowledged  the  merit  of  Walpole,  whom 
he  called  'a  fixed  star;'  while  he  characterised  his  opponent, 
Pitt,  as  'a  meteor.'  But  Johnson's  juvenile  poem  was  natu- 
rally impregnated  with  the  fire  of  opposition,  and  upon  every 
account  was  universally  admired. 

Though  thus  elevated  into  fame,  and  conscious  of  uncom- 
mon powers,  he  had  not  that  bustling  confidence,  or,  I  may 
rather  say,  that  animated  ambition,  which  one  might  have 
supposed  would  have  urged  him  to  endeavour  at  rising  in 
life.  But  such  was  his  inflexible  dignity  of  character,  that 
he  could  not  stoop  to  court  the  great;  without  which,  hardly 
any  man  has  made  his  way  to  a  high  station.    He  could  not 


32  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i738 

expect  to  produce  many  such  works  as  his  London,  and  he 
felt  the  hardships  of  writing  for  bread;  he  was,  therefore, 
willing  to  resume  the  office  of  a  schoolmaster,  so  as  to  have 
a  sure,  though  moderate  income  for  his  life;  and  an  offer 
being  made  to  him  of  the  mastership  of  a  school,  provided 
he  could  obtain  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts,  Dr.  Adams 
was  applied  to,  by  a  common  friend,  to  know  whether  that 
could  be  granted  him  as  a  favour  from  the  University  of 
Oxford.  But  though  he  had  made  such  a  figure  in  the  lit- 
erary world,  it  was  then  thought  too  great  a  favour  to  be 
asked. 

Pope,  without  any  knowledge  of  him  but  from  his  London, 
recommended  him  to  Earl  Gower,  who  endeavoured  to  pro- 
cure for  him  a  degree  from  Dublin. 

It  was,  perhaps,  no  small  disappointment  to  Johnson  that 
this  respectable  application  had  not  the  desired  effect;  yet 
how  much  reason  has  there  been,  both  for  himself  and  his 
country,  to  rejoice  that  it  did  not  succeed,  as  he  might  prob- 
ably have  wasted  in  obscurity  those  hours  in  which  he  after- 
wards produced  his  incomparable  works. 

About  this  time  he  made  one  other  effort  to  emancipate 
himself  from  the  drudgery  of  authourship.  He  applied  to 
Dr.  Adams,  to  consult  Dr.  Smalbroke  of  the  Commons, 
whether  a  person  might  be  permitted  to  practice  as  an  ad- 
vocate there,  without  a  doctor's  degree  m  Civil  Law.  'I 
am  (said  he)  a  total  stranger  to  these  studies;  but  whatever 
is  a  profession,  and  maintains  numbers,  must  be  within  the 
reach  of  common  abilities,  and  some  degree  of  industry.' 
Dr.  Adams  was  much  pleased  with  Johnson's  design  to 
employ  his  talents  in  that  manner,  being  confident  he  would 
have  attained  to  great  eminence. 

As  Mr.  Pope's  note  concerning  Johnson,  alluded  to  in  a 
former  page,  refers  both  to  his  London,  and  his  Marnior 
Norfolciense,  I  have  deferred  inserting  it  tDl  now.  I  am  in- 
debted for  it  to  Dr.  Percy,  the  Bishop  of  Dromore,  who  per- 
mitted me  to  copy  it  from  the  original  in  his  possession.  It 
was  presented  to  his  Lordship  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  to 
whom  it  was  given  by  the  son  of  Mr.  Richardson  the  painter, 
the  person  to  whom  it  is  addressed.     I  have  transcribed  it 


17391  JOHNSON'S  TRICKS  OF  BODY  33 

with  minute  exactness,  that  the  peculiar  mode  of  writing, 
and  imperfect  spelling  of  that  celebrated  poet,  may  be  ex- 
hibited to  the  curious  in  literature.  It  justifies  Swift's 
epithet  of  'paper-sparing  Pope,'  for  it  is  written  on  a  slip 
no  larger  than  a  common  message-card,  and  was  sent  to 
Mr.  Richardson,  along  with  the  Imitation  of  Juvenal. 

'  This  is  imitated  by  one  Johnson  who  put  in  for  a  Publick- 
school  in  Shropshire,  but  was  disappointed.  He  has  an  in- 
firmity of  the  convulsive  kind,  that  attacks  him  sometimes, 
so  as  to  make  him  a  sad  Spectacle.  Mr.  P.  from  the  Merit 
of  this  Work  which  was  all  the  knowledge  he  had  of  him 
endeavour'd  to  serve  him  without  his  own  application;  & 
wTote  to  my  L*^  gore,  but  he  did  not  succeed.  Mr.  Johnson 
published  aft^rw**  another  Poem  in  Latin  with  Notes  the 
whole  very  Humerous  call'd  the  Norfolk  Prophecy.       P.' 

Johnson  had  been  told  of  this  note;  and  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds informed  him  of  the  compliment  which  it  contained, 
but,  from  delicacy,  avoided  shewing  him  the  paper  itself. 
When  Sir  Joshua  observed  to  Johnson  that  he  seemed  very 
desirous  to  see  Pope's  note,  he  answered,  '  Who  would  not  be 
proud  to  have  such  a  man  as  Pope  so  solicitous  in  inquiring 
about  him?' 

The  infirmity  to  which  Mr.  Pope  alludes,  appeared  to  me 
also,  as  I  have  elsewhere  observed,  to  be  of  the  convulsive 
kind,  and  of  the  nature  of  that  distemper  called  St.  Vitus's 
dance;  and  in  this  opinion  I  am  confirmed  by  the  descrip- 
tion which  Sydenham  gives  of  that  disease.  'This  disorder 
is  a  kind  of  convulsion.  It  manifests  itself  by  halting  or 
unsteadiness  of  one  of  the  legs,  which  the  patient  draws  after 
him  like  an  ideot.  If  the  hand  of  the  same  side  be  applied  to 
the  breast,  or  any  other  part  of  the  body,  he  cannot  keep  it 
a  moment  in  the  same  posture,  but  it  will  be  drawn  into  a 
different  one  by  a  convulsion,  notwithstanding  all  his  efforts 
to  the  contrary.'  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  however,  w^as  of  a 
different  opinion,  and  favoured  me  with  the  following  paper. 

'Those  motions  or  tricks  of  Dr.  Johnson  are  improperly 
called  convulsions.  He  could  sit  motionless,  when  he  was 
told  so  to  do,  as  well  as  any  other  man;  my  opinion  is  that  it 


34  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1739 

proceeded  from  a  habit  which  he  had  indulged  himself  in, 
of  accompanying  his  thoughts  with  certain  untoward  actions, 
and  those  actions  always  appeared  to  me  as  if  they  were 
meant  to  reprobate  some  part  of  his  past  conduct.  When- 
■ever  he  was  not  engaged  in  conversation,  such  thoughts  were 
sure  to  rush  into  his  mind;  and,  for  this  reason,  any  com- 
pany, any  employment  whatever,  he  preferred  to  being 
alone.  The  great  business  of  his  life  (he  said)  was  to  escape 
from  himself;  this  disposition  he  considered  as  the  disease 
of  his  mind,  which  nothing  cured  but  company. 

'One  instance  of  his  absence  and  particularity,  as  it  is 
«haracteristick  of  the  man,  may  be  worth  relating.  When 
lie  and  I  took  a  journey  together  into  the  West,  we  visited 
the  late  Mr.  Banks,  of  Dorsetshire;  the  conversation  turn- 
ing upon  pictures,  M'hich  Johnson  could  not  well  see,  he  re- 
tired to  a  corner  of  the  room,  stretching  out  his  right  leg  as 
far  as  he  could  reach  before  him,  then  bringing  up  his  left 
leg,  and  stretching  his  right  still  further  on.  The  old  gentle- 
man observing  him,  went  up  to  him,  and  in  a  very  courteous 
manner  assured  him,  that  though  it  was  not  a  new  house, 
the  flooring  was  perfectly  safe.  The  Doctor  started  from 
his  reverie,  like  a  person  waked  out  of  his  sleep,  but  spoke 
not  a  word.' 

While  we  are  on  this  subject,  my  readers  may  not  be  dis- 
pleased with  another  anecdote,  communicated  to  me  by  the 
same  friend,  from  the  relation  of  Mr.  Hogarth. 

Johnson  used  to  be  a  pretty  frequent  visitor  at  the  house 
of  Mr.  Richardson,  authour  of  Clarissa,  and  other  novels  of 
extensive  reputation.  Mr.  Hogarth  came  one  day  to  see 
Richardson,  soon  after  the  execution  of  Dr.  Cameron,  for 
having  taken  arms  for  the  house  of  Stuart  in  1745-6;  and 
being  a  warm  partisan  of  George  the  Second,  he  observed  to 
Hichardson,  that  certainly  there  must  have  been  some  very 
unfavourable  circumstances  lately  discovered  in  this  par- 
ticular case,  which  had  induced  the  King  to  approve  of  an 
execution  for  rebellion  so  long  after  the  time  when  it  was 
committed,  as  this  had  the  appearance  of  putting  a  man  to 
death  in  cold  blood,  and  was  very  unlike  his  Majesty's  usual 
clemency.     While  he  was  talking,   he  perceived  a  person 


17401  EPITAPH  ON  PHILIPS  35 

standing  at  a  window  in  the  room,  shaking  his  head,  and 
rolling  himself  about  in  a  strange  ridiculous  manner.  He 
concluded  that  he  was  an  ideot,  whom  his  relations  had  put 
under  the  care  of  Mr.  Richardson,  as  a  very  good  man.  To 
his  great  surprize,  however,  this  figure  stalked  forwards  to 
where  he  and  Mr.  Richardson  were  sitting,  and  all  at  once 
took  up  the  argument,  and  burst  out  into  an  invective  against 
George  the  Second,  as  one,  who,  upon  all  occasions,  was 
unrelenting  and  barbarous;  mentioning  many  instances, 
particularly,  that  when  an  officer  of  high  rank  had  been 
acquitted  by  a  Court  Martial,  George  the  Second  had  with 
his  own  hand,  struck  his  name  off  the  list.  In  short,  he  dis- 
played such  a  power  of  eloquence,  that  Hogarth  looked  at 
him  with  astonishment,  and  actually  imagined  that  this  ideot 
had  been  at  the  moment  inspired.  Neither  Hogarth  nor 
Johnson  were  made  known  to  each  other  at  this  interview. 

1740:  ^TAT.  31.] — In  1740  he  wrote  for  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine  the  'Preface,'  'Life  of  Sir  Francis  Drake,'  and  the 
first  parts  of  those  of  'Admiral  Blake,'  and  of  'Philip  Bare- 
tier,'  both  which  he  finished  the  following  year.  He  also 
wrote  an  'Essay  on  Epitaphs,'  and  an  'Epitaph  on  Philips, 
a  Musician,'  which  was  afterwards  published  with  some  other 
pieces  of  his,  in  Mrs.  Williams's  Miscellanies.  This  Epitaph 
is  so  exquisitely  beautiful,  that  I  remember  even  Lord  Kames, 
strangely  prejudiced  as  he  was  against  Dr.  Johnson,  was 
compelled  to  allow  it  very  high  praise.  It  has  been  ascribed 
to  Mr.  Garrick,  from  its  appearing  at  first  with  the  signature 
G;  but  I  have  heard  Mr.  Garrick  declare,  that  it  was  written 
by  Dr.  Johnson,  and  give  the  following  account  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  was  composed.  Johnson  and  he  were  sitting 
together;  when,  amongst  other  things,  Garrick  repeated  an 
Epitaph  upon  this  Philips  by  a  Dr.  Wilkes,  in  these  words: 

'Exalted  soul!  whose  harmony  could  please 
The  love-sick  virgin,  and  the  gouty  ease; 
Could  jarring  discord,  like  Amphion,  move 
To  beauteous  order  and  harmonious  love; 
Rest  here  in  peace,  till  angels  bid  thee  rise. 
And  meet  thy  blessed  Saviour  in  the  skies.' 


36  LIFE   OF   DR.   JOHNSON  [i744 

Johnson  shook  his  head  at  these  common-place  funereal 
lines,  and  said  to  Garrick,  'I  think,  Davy,  I  can  make  a 
better.'  Then,  stirring  about  his  tea  for  a  little  while,  in 
a  state  of  meditation,  he  almost  extempore  produced  the 
following  verses: 

'  Philips,  whose  touch  harmonious  could  remove 
The  pangs  of  guilty  power  or  hapless  love; 
Rest  here,  distress' d  by  poverty  no  more, 
Here  find  that  calm  thou  gav'st  so  oft  before; 
Sleep,  undisturb'd,  within  this  peaceful  shrine, 
Till  angels  wake  thee  with  a  note  hke  thine ! ' 

1742:  iETAT.  33.] — In  1742  he  wrote  .  .  .  'Proposals  for 
Printing  Bibliotheca  Harleiana,  or  a  Catalogue  of  the  Library 
of  the  Earl  of  Oxford.'  He  was  employed  in  this  business 
by  Mr.  Thomas  Osborne  the  bookseller,  who  purchased  the 
library  for  13,000/.,  a  sum  which  Mr.  Oldys  says,  in  one  of 
his  manuscripts,  was  not  more  than  the  binding  of  the  books 
had  cost;  yet,  as  Dr.  Johnson  assured  me,  the  slowness  of 
the  sale  was  such,  that  there  was  not  much  gained  by  it. 
It  has  been  confidently  related,  with  many  embellishments, 
that  Johnson  one  day  knocked  Osborne  down  in  his  shop, 
with  a  folio,  and  put  his  foot  upon  his  neck.  The  simple 
truth  I  had  from  Johnson  himself.  '  Sir,  he  was  impertinent 
to  me,  and  I  beat  him.  But  it  was  not  in  his  shop:  it  was 
in  my  own  chamber.' 

1744:  ^TAT.  35.] — He  produced  one  work  this  year,  fully 
sufficient  to  maintain  the  high  reputation  which  he  had  ac- 
quired. This  was  The  Life  of  Richard  Savage;  a  man,  of 
whom  it  is  difficult  to  speak  impartially,  without  wondering 
that  he  was  for  some  time  the  intimate  companion  of  John- 
son; for  his  character  was  marked  by  profligacy,  insolence, 
and  ingratitude:  yet,  as  he  undoubtedly  had  a  warm  and 
vigorous,  though  unregulated  mind,  had  seen  life  in  all  its 
varieties,  and  been  much  in  the  company  of  the  statesmen 
and  wits  of  his  time,  he  could  communicate  to  Johnson  an 
abundant  supply  of  such  materials  as  his  philosophical  curi- 
osity most  eagerly  desired;  and  as  Savage's  misfortunes  and 
misconduct  had  reduced  him  to  the  lowest  state  of  wretched- 


1744]  IN  WANT  OF  A  LODGING  37 

ness  as  a  writer  for  bread,  his  visits  to  St.  John's  Gate  natu- 
rally brought  Johnson  and  him  together. 

It  is  melancholy  to  reflect,  that  Johnson  and  Savage  were 
sometimes  in  such  extreme  indigence,*  that  they  could  not 
pay  for  a  lodging;  so  that  they  have  wandered  together 
whole  nights  in  the  streets.  Yet  in  these  almost  incredible 
scenes  of  distress,  we  may  suppose  that  Savage  mentioned 
many  of  the  anecdotes  with  which  Johnson  afterwards  en- 
riched the  life  of  his  unhappy  companion,  and  those  of  other 
Poets. 

He  told  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  that  one  night  in  particular, 
when  Savage  and  he  walked  round  St.  James's-square  for 
want  of  a  lodging,  they  were  not  at  all  depressed  by  their 
situation;  but  in  high  spirits  and  brimful  of  patriotism, 
traversed  the  square  for  several  hours,  inveighed  against  the 
minister,  and  'resolved  they  woi^ld  stand  by  their  country.' 

In  Johnson's  Life  of  Savage,  although  it  must  be  allowed 
that  its  moral  is  the  reverse  of — 'Respicere  exemplar  vitoe 
nwrumque  jubebo,'  a  very  useful  lesson  is  inculcated,  to  guard 
men  of  warm  passions  from  a  too  free  indulgence  of  them; 
and  the  various  incidents  are  related  in  so  clear  and  ani- 
mated a  manner,  and  illuminated  throughout  with  so  much 
philosophy,  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  narratives 
in  the  English  language.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  told  me,  that 
upon  his  return  from  Italy  he  met  with  it  in  Devonshire, 
knowing  nothing  of  its  authour,  and  began  to  read  it  while 
he  was  standing  with  his  arm  leaning  against  a  chimney- 
piece.  It  seized  his  attention  so  strongly,  that,  not  being 
able  to  lay  down  the  book  till  he  had  finished  it,  when  he 
attempted  to  move,  he  found  his  arm  totally  benumbed. 
The  rapidity  with  which  this  work  was  composed,  is  a  won- 
derful circumstance.    Johnson  has  been  heard  to  say,   'I 


1  Soon  after  Savage's  Life  was  published,  Mr.  Harte  dined  with  Ed- 
ward Cave,  and  occasionally  praised  it.  Soon  after,  meeting  him. 
Cave  said,  'You  made  a  man  very  happy  tother  day.' — 'How  could 
that  be,'  says  Harte ;  '  nobody  was  there  but  ourselves.'  Cave  answered, 
by  reminding  him  that  a  plate  of  victuals  was  sent  behind  a  screen, 
which  was  to  Johnson,  dressed  so  shabbily,  that  he  did  not  choose  to 
appear:  but  on  hearing  the  conversation,  was  highly  delighted  with 
the  encomiums  on  his  book. — Ma  lone. 


38  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i744 

wrote  forty-eight  of  the  printed  octavo  pages  of  the  Life  of 
Savage  at  a  sitting;  but  then  I  sat  up  all  night.' 

It  is  remarkable,  that  in  this  biographical  disquisition 
there  appears  a  very  strong  symptom  of  Johnson's  prejudice 
against  players;  a  prejudice  which  may  be  attributed  to  the 
following  causes:  first,  the  imperfection  of  his  organs,  which 
were  so  defective  that  he  was  not  susceptible  of  the  fine 
impressions  which  theatrical  excellence  produces  upon  the 
generality  of  mankind;  secondly,  the  cold  rejection  of  his 
tragedy;  and,  lastly,  the  brilliant  success  of  Garrick,  who 
had  been  his  pupil,  who  had  come  to  London  at  the  same 
time  with  him,  not  in  a  much  more  prosperous  state  than, 
himself,  and  whose  talents  he  undoubtedly  rated  low,  com- 
pared with  his  own.  His  being  outstripped  by  his  pupil  in 
the  race  of  immediate  fame,  as  well  as  of  fortune,  probably 
made  him  feel  some  indignation,  as  thinking  that  whatever 
might  be  Garrick's  merits  in  his  art,  the  reward  was  too  great 
when  compared  with  what  the  most  successful  efforts  of 
literary  labour  could  attain.  At  all  periods  of  his  life  John- 
son used  to  talk  contemptuously  of  players;  but  in  this  work 
he  speaks  of  them  with  peculiar  acrimony;  for  which,  per- 
haps, there  was  formerly  too  much  reason  from  the  licentious 
and  dissolute  manners  of  those  engaged  in  that  profession. 
It  is  but  justice  to  add,  that  in  our  own  time  such  a  change 
has  taken  place,  that  there  is  no  longer  room  for  such  an 
unfavourable  distinction. 

His  schooKellow  and  friend.  Dr.  Taylor,  told  me  a  pleasant 
anecdote  of  Johnson's  triumphing  over  his  pupU  David 
Garrick.  When  that  great  actor  had  played  some  little  time 
at  Goodman's  fields,  Johnson  and  Taylor  went  to  see  him 
perform,  and  afterwards  passed  the  evening  at  a  tavern  with 
him  and  old  Giffard.  Johnson,  who  was  ever  depreciating 
stage-players,  after  censuring  some  mistakes  in  emphasis 
which  Garrick  had  committed  in  the  course  of  that  night's 
acting,  said,  'The  players,  Sir,  have  got  a  kind  of  rant,  with 
which  they  run  on,  without  any  regard  either  to  accent  or 
emphasis.'  Both  Garrick  and  Giffard  were  offended  at  this 
sarcasm,  and  endeavoured  to  refute  it;  upon  which  Johnson 
rejoined,  'Well  now,  I'll  give  you  something  to  speak,  with 


1746)  THE  REBELLION  OF  1745  3» 

which  you  are  Uttle  acquainted,  and  then  we  shall  see  how 
just  my  observation  is.  That  shall  be  the  criterion.  Let  me 
hear  you  repeat  the  ninth  Commandment,  "Thou  shalt  not 
bear  false  witness  against  thy  neighbour." '  Both  tried  at  it, 
said  Dr.  Taylor,  and  both  mistook  the  emphasis,  which 
should  be  upon  not  and  false  witness.  Johnson  put  them 
right,  and  enjoyed  his  victory  with  great  glee. 

Johnson's  partiality  for  Savage  made  him  entertain  no 
doubt  of  his  story,  however  extraordinary  and  improbable. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  to  question  his  being  the  son  of  the 
Countess  of  Macclesfield,  of  whose  unrelenting  barbarity  he 
so  loudly  complained,  and  the  particulars  of  which  are  re- 
lated in  so  strong  and  affecting  a  manner  in  Johnson's  life 
of  him.  Johnson  was  certainly  well  warranted  in  publishing 
his  narrative,  however  offensive  it  might  be  to  the  lady  and 
her  relations,  because  her  alledged  unnatural  and  cruel  con- 
duct to  her  son,  and  shameful  avowal  of  guilt,  were  stated 
in  a  Life  of  Savage  now  lying  before  me,  which  came  out  so 
early  as  1727,  and  no  attempt  had  been  made  to  confute  it, 
or  to  punish  the  authour  or  printer  as  a  libeller:  but  for  the 
honour  of  human  nature,  we  should  be  glad  to  find  the 
shocking  tale  not  true;  and,  from  a  respectable  gentleman 
connected  with  the  lady's  family,  I  have  received  such  in- 
formation and  remarks,  as  joined  to  my  own  inquiries,  will, 
I  think,  render  it  at  least  somewhat  doubtful,  especially 
when  we  consider  that  it  must  have  originated  from  the 
person  himself  who  went  by  the  name  of  Richard  Savage. 

1746:  .ETAT.  37.] — It  is  somewhat  curious,  that  his  literary 
career  appears  to  have  been  almost  totally  suspended  in  the 
years  1745  and  1746,  those  years  which  were  marked  by  a 
civil  war  in  Great-Britain,  when  a  rash  attempt  was  made 
to  restore  the  House  of  Stuart  to  the  throne.  That  he  had 
a  tenderness  for  that  unfortunate  House,  is  well  known ;  and 
some  may  fancifully  imagine,  that  a  S3anpathetick  anxiety 
impeded  the  exertion  of  his  intellectual  powers:  but  I  am 
inclined  to  think,  that  he  was,  during  this  time,  sketching  the 
outlines  of  his  great  philological  work. 

1747:  iETAT.  38.] — This  year  his  old  pupil  and  friend, 
David  Garrick,  having  become  joint  patentee  and  manager 


40  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1747 

of  Drury-lane  theatre,  Johnson  honoured  his  opening  of  it 
with  a  Prologue,  which  for  just  and  manly  dramatick  criti- 
cism, on  the  whole  range  of  the  English  stage,  as  well  as 
for  poetical  excellence,  is  unrivalled.  Like  the  celebrated 
Epilogue  to  the  Distressed  Mother,  it  was,  during  the  season, 
often  called  for  by  the  audience. 

But  the  year  1747  is  distinguished  as  the  epoch,  when 
Johnson's  arduous  and  important  work,  his  Dictionary  of 
THE  English  Language,  was  announced  to  the  world,  by 
the  publication  of  its  Plan  or  Prospectus. 

How  long  this  immense  undertaking  had  been  the  object 
of  his  contemplation,  I  do  not  know.  I  once  asked  him  by 
what  means  he  had  attained  to  that  astonishing  knowledge 
of  our  language,  by  which  he  was  enabled  to  realise  a  design 
of  such  extent,  and  accumulated  difficulty.  He  told  me, 
that  'it  was  not  the  effect  of  particular  study;  but  that  it 
had  grown  up  in  his  mind  insensibly.'  I  have  been  informed 
by  Mr.  James  Dodsley,  that  several  years  before  this  period, 
when  Johnson  was  one  day  sitting  in  his  brother  Robert's 
shop,  he  heard  his  brother  suggest  to  him,  that  a  Dictionary 
of  the  EngUsh  Language  would  be  a  work  that  would  be  well 
received  by  the  publick;  that  Johnson  seemed  at  first  to 
catch  at  the  proposition,  but,  after  a  pause,  said,  in  his 
abrupt  decisive  manner,  *I  beheve  I  shall  not  undertake  it.' 
That  he,  however,  had  bestowed  much  thought  upon  the 
subject,  before  he  published  his  Plan,  is  evident  from  the 
enlarged,  clear,  and  accurate  views  which  it  exhibits;  and 
we  find  him  mentioning  in  that  tract,  that  many  of  the 
writers  whose  testimonies  were  to  be  produced  as  authori- 
ties, were  selected  by  Pope;  which  proves  that  he  had  been 
furnished,  probably  by  Mr.  Robert  Dodsley,  with  whatever 
hints  that  eminent  poet  had  contributed  towards  a  great 
literary  project,  that  had  been  the  subject  of  important  con- 
sideration in  a  former  reign. 

The  booksellers  who  contracted  with  Johnson,  single  and 
unaided,  for  the  execution  of  a  work,  which  in  other  coun- 
tries has  not  been  effected  but  by  the  co-operating  exertions 
of  many,  were  Mr.  Robert  Dodsley,  Mr.  Charles  Hitch,  Mr. 
Andrew  Millar,  the  two  Messieurs  Longman,  and  the  two 


1747]      ADDRESS  TO  LORD  CHESTERFIELD         41 

Messieurs  Knapton.  The  price  stipulated  was  fifteen  hun- 
dred and  seventy-five  pounds. 

The  Plan  was  addressed  to  Philip  Dormer,  Earl  of  Chester- 
field, then  one  of  his  Majesty's  Principal  Secretaries  of  State; 
a  nobleman  who  was  very  ambitious  of  literary  distinction, 
and  who,  upon  being  informed  of  the  design,  had  expressed 
himself  in  terms  very  favourable  to  its  success.  There  is, 
perhaps  in  every  thing  of  any  consequence,  a  secret  history 
which  it  would  be  amusing  to  know,  could  we  have  it  authen- 
tically communicated.  Johnson  told  me,  'Sir,  the  way  in 
which  the  Plan  of  my  Dictionary  came  to  be  inscribed  to 
Lord  Chesterfield,  was  this:  I  had  neglected  to  write  it  by 
the  time  appointed.  Dodsley  suggested  a  desire  to  have  it 
addressed  to  Lord  Chesterfield.  I  laid  hold  of  this  as  a  pre- 
text for  delay,  that  it  might  be  better  done,  and  let  Dodsley 
have  his  desire.  I  said  to  my  friend.  Dr.  Bathurst,  "Now  if 
any  good  comes  of  my  addressing  to  Lord  Chesterfield,  it 
will  be  ascribed  to  deep  policy,  when,  in  fact,  it  was  only  a 
casual  excuse  for  laziness.'" 

Dr.  Adams  found  him  one  day  busy  at  his  Dictionary, 
when  the  following  dialogue  ensued.  'Adams.  This  is  a 
great  work,  Sir.  How  are  you  to  get  all  the  etymologies? 
Johnson.  Why,  Sir,  here  is  a  shelf  with  Junius,  and  Skinner, 
and  others;  and  there  is  a  Welch  gentleman  who  has  pub- 
lished a  collection  of  Welch  proverbs,  who  will  help  me  with 
the  Welch.  Adams.  But,  Sir,  how  can  you  do  this  in  three 
years?  Johnson.  Sir,  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  can  do  it  in 
three  years.  Adams.  But  the  French  Academy,  which  con- 
sists of  forty  members,  took  forty  years  to  compile  their 
Dictionary.  Johnson.  Sir,  thus  it  is.  This  is  the  propor- 
tion. Let  me  see;  forty  times  forty  is  sixteen  hundred.  As 
three  to  sixteen  hundred,  so  is  the  proportion  of  an  English- 
man to  a  Frenchman.'  With  so  much  ease  and  pleasantry 
could  he  talk  of  that  prodigious  labour  which  he  had  under- 
taken to  execute. 

For  the  mechanical  part  he  employed,  as  he  told  me,  six 
amanuenses;  and  let  it  be  remembered  by  the  natives  of 
North-Britain,  to  whom  he  is  supposed  to  have  been  so 
hostile,  that  five  of  them  were  of  that  country.    There  were 


42  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i748 

two  Messieurs  Macbean;  Mr.  Shiels,  who  we  shall  hereafter 
see  partly  wrote  the  Lives  of  the  Poets  to  which  the  name  of 
Oibber  is  affixed;  Mr.  Stewart,  son  of  Mr.  George  Stewart, 
bookseller  at  Edinburgh;  and  a  Mr.  Maitland.  The  sixth 
of  these  humble  assistants  was  Mr.  Peyton,  who,  I  believe, 
taught  French,  and  published  some  elementary  tracts. 

To  all  these  painful  labourers,  Johnson  shewed  a  never- 
ceasing  kindness,  so  far  as  they  stood  in  need  of  it.  The 
elder  Mr.  Macbean  had  afterwards  the  honour  of  being  Li- 
brarian to  Archibald,  Duke  of  Argyle,  for  many  years,  but 
was  left  without  a  shilling.  Johnson  wrote  for  him  a  Preface 
to  A  System  of  Ancient  Geography;  and,  by  the  favour  of 
Lord  Thurlow,  got  him  admitted  a  poor  brother  of  the  Char- 
terhouse. For  Shiels,  who  died  of  a  consumption,  he  had 
much  tenderness;  and  it  has  been  thought  that  some  choice 
sentences  in  the  Lives  of  the  Poets  were  supplied  by  him. 
Peyton,  when  reduced  to  penury,  had  frequent  aid  from  the 
bounty  of  Johnson,  who  at  last  was  at  the  expense  of  bury- 
ing both  him  and  his  wife. 

•While  the  Dictionary  was  going  forward,  Johnson  lived  part 
of  the  time  in  Holborn,  part  in  Gough-square,  Fleet-street; 
and  he  had  an  upper  room  fitted  up  like  a  counting-house 
for  the  purpose,  in  which  he  gave  to  the  copyists  their  several 
tasks.  The  words,  partly  taken  from  other  dictionaries, 
and  partly  supplied  by  himself,  having  been  first  written 
down  with  spaces  left  between  them,  he  delivered  in  writing 
their  etymologies,  definitions,  and  various  significations. 
The  authorities  were  copied  from  the  books  themselves,  in 
which  he  had  marked  the  passages  with  a  black-lead  pencil, 
the  traces  of  which  could  easily  be  effaced.  I  have  seen 
several  of  them,  in  which  that  trouble  had  not  been  taken; 
so  that  they  were  just  as  when  used  by  the  copyists.  It  is 
remarkable,  that  he  was  so  attentive  in  the  choice  of  the  pas- 
sages in  which  words  were  authorised,  that  one  may  read 
page  after  page  of  his  Dictionary  with  improvement  and 
pleasure;  and  it  should  not  pass  unobserved,  that  he  has 
quoted  no  authour  whose  writings  had  a  tendency  to  hurt 
sound  religion  and  morality. 

The  necessary  expense  of  preparing  a  work  of  such  magni~ 
iixde  for  the  press,  must  have  been  a  considerable  deduction 


1749]       THE  VANITY  OF  HUMAN  WISHES  43 

from  the  price  stipulated  to  be  paid  for  the  copy-right.  I 
understand  that  nothing  was  allowed  by  the  booksellers  on 
that  account;  and  I  remember  his  telling  me,  that  a  large 
portion  of  it  having  by  mistake  been  written  upon  both  sides 
of  the  paper,  so  as  to  be  inconvenient  for  the  compositor, 
it  cost  him  twenty  pounds  to  have  it  transcribed  upon  one 
side  only. 

He  is  now  to  be  considered  as  'tugging  at  his  oar,'  as 
engaged  in  a  steady  continued  course  of  occupation,  sufficient 
to  employ  all  his  time  for  some  years;  and  which  was  the 
best  preventive  of  that  constitutional  melancholy  which  was 
ever  lurking  about  him,  ready  to  trouble  his  quiet.  But  his 
enlarged  and  lively  mind  could  not  be  satisfied  without  more 
diversity  of  employment,  and  the  pleasure  of  animated  re- 
laxation. He  therefore  not  only  exerted  his  talents  in  occa- 
sional composition  very  different  from  Lexicography,  but 
formed  a  club  in  Ivy-lane,  Paternoster-row,  with  a  view  to 
enjoy  literary  discussion,  and  amuse  his  evening  hours.  The 
members  associated  with  him  in  this  little  society  were  his 
beloved  friend  Dr.  Richard  Bathurst,  Mr.  Hawkesworth, 
afterwards  well  known  by  his  writings,  Mr.  John  Hawkins, 
an  attorney,  and  a  few  others  of  different  professions. 

1749:  ^TAT.  40.] — In  January,  1749,  he  published  The 
Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  being  the  Tenth  Satire  of  Juvenal 
imitaied.  He,  I  believe,  composed  it  the  preceding  year. 
Mrs.  Johnson,  for  the  sake  of  country  air,  had  lodgings  at 
Hampstead,  to  which  he  resorted  occasionally,  and  there  the 
greatest  part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  this  Imitation  was  written. 
The  fervid  rapidity  with  which  it  was  produced,  is  scarcely 
credible.  I  have  heard  him  say,  that  he  composed  seventy 
lines  of  it  in  one  day,  without  putting  one  of  them  up)on 
paper  till  they  were  finished.  I  remember  when  I  once 
regretted  to  him  that  he  had  not  given  us  more  of  Juvenal's 
Satires,  he  said  he  probably  should  give  more,  for  he  had 
them  all  in  his  head;  by  which  I  understood  that  he  had  the 
originals  and  correspondent  allusions  floating  in  his  mind, 
which  he  could,  when  he  pleased,  embody  and  render  per- 
manent without  much  labour.  Some  of  them,  however,  he 
■observed  were  too  gross  for  imitation. 

The  profits  of  a  single  poem,  however  excellent,  appear  to 


44  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1749 

have  been  very  small  in  the  last  reign,  compared  with  what 
a  publication  of  the  same  size  has  since  been  known  to  yield. 
I  have  mentioned,  upon  Johnson's  own  authority,  that  for 
his  London  he  had  only  ten  guineas;  and  now,  after  his  fame 
was  established,  he  got  for  his  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes  but 
five  guineas  more,  as  is  proved  by  an  authentick  document 
in  my  possession. 

His  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes  has  less  of  common  life,  but 
more  of  a  philosophick  dignity  than  his  London.  More 
readers,  therefore,  will  be  delighted  with  the  pointed  spirit 
of  London,  than  with  the  profound  reflection  of  The  Vanity 
of  Human  Wishes.  Garrick,  for  instance,  observed  in  his 
sprightly  manner,  with  more  vivacity  than  regard  to  just 
discrimination,  as  is  usual  with  wits:  'When  Johnson  lived 
much  with  the  Herveys,  and  saw  a  good  deal  of  what  was 
passing  in  life,  he  wrote  his  London,  which  is  lively  and  easy. 
When  he  became  more  retired,  he  gave  us  his  Vanity  of 
Human  Wishes,  which  is  as  hard  as  Greek.  Had  he  gone  on 
to  imitate  another  satire,  it  would  have  been  as  hard  as 
Hebrew.' 

Garrick  being  now  vested  with  theatrical  power  by  being 
manager  of  Drury-lane  theatre,  he  kindly  and  generously 
made  use  of  it  to  bring  out  Johnson's  tragedy,  which  had 
been  long  kept  back  for  want  of  encouragement.  But  in  this 
benevolent  purpose  he  met  with  no  small  difficulty  from  the 
temper  of  Johnson,  which  could  not  brook  that  a  drama 
which  he  had  formed  with  much  studj^,  and  had  been  obliged 
to  keep  more  than  the  nine  years  of  Horace,  should  be  re- 
^dsed  and  altered  at  the  pleasure  of  an  actor.  Yet  Garrick 
knew  well,  that  without  some  alterations  it  would  not  be  fit  for 
the  stage.  A  \nolent  dispute  having  ensued  between  them, 
Garrick  applied  to  the  Reverend  Dr.  Taylor  to  interpose. 
Johnson  was  at  first  very  obstinate.  '  Sir,  (said  he)  the  fellow 
wants  me  to  make  Mahomet  run  mad,  that  he  may  have 
an  opportunity  of  tossing  his  hands  and  kicking  his  heels.' 
He  was,  however,  at  last,  with  difficulty,  prevailed  on  to 
comply  with  Garrick's  wishes,  so  as  to  allow  of  some  changes; 
but  still  there  were  not  enough. 

Dr.  Adams  was  present  the  first  night  of  the  representa- 


17491  THE  RECEPTION  OF  IRENE  45 

tion  of  Irene,  and  gave  me  the  following  account:  'Before 
the  curtain  drew  up,  there  were  catcalls  whistling,  which 
alarmed  Johnson's  friends.  The  Prologue,  which  was  written 
by  himself  in  a  manly  strain,  soothed  the  audience,  and  the 
play  went  off  tolerably,  till  it  came  to  the  conclusion,  when 
Mrs.  Pritchard,  the  heroine  of  the  piece,  was  to  be  strangled 
upon  the  stage,  and  was  to  speak  two  lines  with  the  bow- 
string round  her  neck.  The  audience  cried  out  "Murder! 
Murder!"  She  several  times  attempted  to  speak;  but  in 
vain.  At  last  she  was  obliged  to  go  off  the  stage  alive.* 
This  passage  was  afterwards  struck  out,  and  she  was  car- 
ried off  to  be  put  to  death  behind  the  scenes,  as  the  play 
now  has  it.  The  Epilogue,  as  Johnson  informed  me,  was 
written  by  Sir  William  Yonge.  I  know  not  how  his  play 
came  to  be  thus  graced  by  the  pen  of  a  person  then  so  emi- 
nent in  the  political  world. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  support  of  such  performers  as 
Garrick,  Barry,  Mrs.  Gibber,  Mrs.  Pritchard,  and  every  ad- 
vantage of  dress  and  decoration,  the  tragedy  of  Irene  did  not 
please  the  pubHck.  Mr.  Garrick's  zeal  carried  it  through 
for  nine  nights,  so  that  the  authour  had  his  three  nights* 
profits;  and  from  a  receipt  signed  by  him,  now  in  the  hands 
of  Mr.  James  Dodsley,  it  appears  that  his  friend  Mr.  Robert 
Dodsley  gave  him  one  hmidred  pounds  for  the  copy,  with  his 
usual  reservation  of  the  right  of  one  edition. 

When  asked  how  he  felt  upon  the  ill  success  of  his  tragedy, 
he  replied,  'Like  the  Monument;'  meaning  that  he  continued 
firm  and  unmoved  as  that  column.  And  let  it  be  remem- 
bered, as  an  admonition  to  the  genus  irritabile  of  dramatick 
writers,  that  this  great  man,  instead  of  peevishly  complain- 
ing of  the  bad  taste  of  the  town,  submitted  to  its  decision 
without  a  murmur.  He  had,  indeed,  upon  all  occasions,  a 
great  deference  for  the  general  opinion:  'A  man  (said  he) 
who  writes  a  book,  thinks  himself  wiser  or  wittier  than  the 
rest  of  mankind;  he  supposes  that  he  can  instruct  or  amuse 
them,  and  the  publick  to  whom  he  appeals,  must,  after  all, 
be  the  judges  of  his  pretensions.' 

On  occasion  of  his  play  being  brought  upon  the  stage, 
Johnson  had  a  fancy  that  as  a  dramatick  authour  his  dress 


46  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1750 

should  be  more  gay  than  what  he  ordinarily  wore;  he  there- 
fore appeared  behind  the  scenes,  and  even  in  one  of  the  side 
boxes,  in  a  scarlet  waistcoat,  with  rich  gold  lace,  and  a  gold- 
laced  hat.  He  humourously  observed  to  Mr.  Langton,  '  that 
when  in  that  dress  he  could  not  treat  people  with  the  same 
ease  as  when  in  his  usual  plain  clothes.'  Dress  indeed,  we 
must  allow,  has  more  effect  even  upon  strong  minds  than  one 
should  suppose,  without  having  had  the  experience  of  it. 
His  necessary  attendance  while  his  play  was  in  rehearsal,  and 
during  its  performance,  brought  him  acquainted  with  many 
of  the  performers  of  both  sexes,  which  produced  a  more 
favourable  opinion  of  their  profession  than  he  had  harshly 
expressed  in  his  Life  of  Savage.  With  some  of  them  he  kept 
up  an  acquaintance  as  long  as  he  and  they  lived,  and  was 
ever  ready  to  shew  them  acts  of  kindness.  He  for  a  con- 
siderable time  used  to  frequent  the  Green  Room,  and  seemed 
to  take  delight  in  dissipating  his  gloom,  by  mixing  in  the 
sprightly  chit-chat  of  the  motley  circle  then  to  be  found  there. 
Mr.  David  Hume  related  to  me  from  Mr.  Garrick,  that  John- 
son at  last  denied  himself  this  amusement,  from  considera- 
tions of  rigid  virtue;  sajang,  'I'll  come  no  more  behind  your 
scenes,  David;  for  the  silk  stockings  and  white  bosoms  of 
your  actresses  excite  my  amorous  propensities.' 

1750:  ^TAT.  41.] — In  1750  he  came  forth  in  the  character 
for  which  he  was  eminently  qualified,  a  majestick  teacher  of 
moral  and  religious  wisdom.  The  vehicle  which  he  chose 
was  that  of  a  periodical  paper,  which  he  knew  had  been, 
upon  former  occasions,  employed  with  great  success.  The 
Tatler,  Spectator,  and  Guardian,  were  the  last  of  the  kind 
published  in  England,  which  had  stood  the  test  of  a  long  trial; 
and  such  an  interval  had  now  elapsed  since  their  publication, 
as  made  him  justly  think  that,  to  many  of  his  readers,  this 
form  of  instruction  would,  in  some  degree,  have  the  advan- 
tage of  novelty.  A  few  days  before  the  first  of  his  Essays 
came  out,  there  started  another  competitor  for  fame  in  the 
same  form,  under  the  title  of  The  Tatler  Revived,  which  I 
believe  was  'born  but  to  die.'  Johnson  was,  I  think,  not  very 
happy  in  the  choice  of  his  title.  The  Rambler,  which  certainly 
is  not  suited  to  a  series  of  grave  and  moral  discourses ;  which 


1750]  TiJE  RAMBLER  47 

the  Italians  have  literally,  but  ludicrously  translated  by  11 
Vagabondo;  and  which  has  been  lately  assumed  as  the 
denomination  of  a  vehicle  of  licentious  tales,  The  Rambler's 
Magazine.  He  gave  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  the  following  ac- 
count of  its  getting  this  name:  'What  mtist  be  done,  Sir, 
vnll  be  done.  When  I  was  to  begin  publishing  that  paper, 
I  was  at  a  loss  how  to  name  it.  I  sat  down  at  night  upon 
my  bedside,  and  resolved  that  I  would  not  go  to  sleep  till 
I  had  fixed  its  title.  The  Rambler  seemed  the  best  that  oc- 
curred, and  I  took  it.' 

With  what  devout  and  conscientious  sentiments  this  paper 
was  undertaken,  is  evidenced  by  the  following  prayer,  which 
he  composed  and  offered  up  on  the  occasion:  'Almighty 
God,  the  giver  of  all  good  things,  without  whose  help  all 
labour  is  ineffectual,  and  without  whose  grace  all  wisdom  is 
folly;  grant,  I  beseech  Thee,  that  in  this  undertaking  thy 
Holy  Spirit  may  not  be  with-held  from  me,  but  that  I  may 
promote  thy  glory,  and  the  salvation  of  myself  and  others: 
grant  this,  0  Lord,  for  the  sake  of  thy  son  Jesus  Christ, 
Amen.' 

The  first  paper  of  The  Rambler  was  published  on  Tuesday 
the  20th  of  March,  1750;  and  its  authour  was  enabled  to 
continue  it,  without  interruption,  every  Tuesday  and  Friday, 
till  Saturday  the  17th  of  March,  1752,  on  which  day  it  closed. 
This  is  a  strong  confirmation  of  the  truth  of  a  remark  of 
his,  which  I  have  had  occasion  to  quote  elsewhere,  that  'a 
man  may  write  at  any  time,  if  he  will  set  himself  doggedly 
to  it;'  for,  notwithstanding  his  constitutional  indolence,  his 
depression  of  spirits,  and  his  labour  in  carrying  on  his  Dic- 
tionary, he  answered  the  stated  calls  of  the  press  twice  a 
week  from  the  stores  of  his  mind,  during  all  that  time. 

Posterity  will  be  astonished  when  they  are  told,  upon  the 
authority  of  Johnson  himself,  that  many  of  these  discourses, 
which  we  should  suppose  had  been  laboured  with  all  the  slow 
attention  of  literary  leisure,  were  written  in  haste  as  the 
moment  pressed,  without  even  being  read  over  by  him  before 
they  Were  printed.  It  can  be  accounted  for  only  in  this  way  ^ 
that  by  reading  and  meditation,  and  a  very  close  inspection 
of  life,  he  had  accumulated  a  great  fund  of  miscellaneous 


48  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i750 

knowledge,  which,  by  a  peculiar  promptitude  of  mind,  was 
ever  ready  at  his  call,  and  which  he  had  constantly  accus- 
tomed himself  to  clothe  in  the  most  apt  and  energetick 
expression.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  once  asked  him  by  what 
means  he  had  attained  his  extraordinary  accuracy  and  flow 
of  language.  He  told  him,  that  he  had  early  laid  it  down  as 
a  fixed  rule  to  do  his  best  on  every  occasion,  and  in  every 
company;  to  impart  whatever  he  knew  in  the  most  forcible 
language  he  could  put  it  in;  and  that  by  constant  practice, 
and  never  suffering  any  careless  expressions  to  escape  him, 
or  attempting  to  deliver  his  thoughts  without  arranging 
them  in  the  clearest  manner,  it  became  habitual  to  him. 

As  Tfie  Rambler  was  entirely  the  work  of  one  man,  there 
was,  of  course,  such  a  uniformity  in  its  texture,  as  very  much 
to  exclude  the  charm  of  variety;  and  the  grave  and  often 
solemn  cast  of  thinking,  which  distinguished  it  from  other 
periodical  papers,  made  it,  for  some  time,  not  generally  liked. 
So  slowly  did  this  excellent  work,  of  which  twelve  editions 
have  now  issued  from  the  press,  gain  upon  the  world  at  large, 
that  even  in  the  closing  number  the  authour  says,  'I  have 
never  been  much  a  favourite  of  the  publick.' 

Johnson  told  me,  with  an  amiable  fondness,  a  little  pleas- 
ing circumstance  relative  to  this  work.  Mrs.  Johnson,  in 
whose  judgement  and  taste  he  had  great  confidence,  said  to 
him,  after  a  few  numbers  of  The  Rambler  had  come  out, 
'I  thought  very  well  of  you  before;  but  I  did  not  imagine 
you  could  have  written  any  thing  equal  to  this.'  Distant 
praise,  from  whatever  quarter,  is  not  so  delightful  as  that  of 
a  wife  whom  a  man  loves  and  esteems.  Her  approbation 
may  be  said  to  'come  home  to  his  bosom;'  and  being  so 
near,  its  effect  is  most  sensible  and  permanent. 

Mr.  James  Elphinston,  who  has  since  published  varioua 
works,  and  who  was  ever  esteemed  by  Johnson  as  a  worthy 
man,  happened  to  be  in  Scotland  while  The  Rambler  was 
coming  out  in  single  papers  at  London.  With  a  laudable 
zeal  at  once  for  the  improvement  of  his  countrymen,  and  the 
reputation  of  his  friend,  he  suggested  and  took  the  charge 
of  an  edition  of  those  Essays  at  Edinburgh,  which  followed 
progressively  the  London  publication. 


1750]  LETTER  TO  MR.   ELPHINSTON  49 

This  year  he  wrote  to  the  same  gentleman  u^n  a  mourn- 
ful occasion. 


'To  Mr.  James  Elphinston. 

September  25,  1750. 

'Dear  Sir,  You  have,  as  I  find  by  every  kind  of  evidence, 
lost  an  excellent  mother;  and  I  hope  you  will  not  think  me 
incapable  of  partaking  of  your  grief.  I  have  a  mother,  now 
eighty-two  years  of  age,  whom,  therefore,  I  must  soon  lose, 
unless  it  please  God  that  she  rather  should  mourn  for  me.  I 
read  the  letters  in  which  you  relate  your  mother's  death  to 
Mrs.  Strahan,  and  think  I  do  myself  honour,  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  read  them  with  tears;  but  tears  are  neither  to  you 
nor  to  me  of  any  further  use,  when  once  the  tribute  of  nature 
has  been  paid.  The  business  of  life  summons  us  away  from 
useless  grief,  and  calls  us  to  the  exercise  of  those  virtues  of 
which  we  are  lamenting  our  deprivation.  The  greatest  bene- 
fit which  one  friend  can  confer  upon  another,  is  to  guard, 
and  excite,  and  elevate  his  virtues.  This  your  mother  will 
still  perform,  if  you  diligently  preserve  the  memory  of  her 
life,  and  of  her  death:  a  life,  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  useful, 
wise,  and  innocent;  and  a  death  resigned,  peaceful,  and  holy. 
I  cannot  forbear  to  mention,  that  neither  reason  nor  revela- 
tion denies  you  to  hope,  that  you  may  increase  her  happiness 
by  obeying  her  precepts;  and  that  she  may,  in  her  present 
state,  look  with  pleasure  upon  every  act  of  virtue  to  which 
her  instructions  or  example  have  contributed.  Whether  this 
be  more  than  a  pleasing  dream,  or  a  just  opinion  of  separate 
spirits,  is,  indeed,  of  no  great  importance  to  us,  when  we 
consider  ourselves  as  acting  under  the  eye  of  God:  yet, 
surely,  there  is  something  pleasing  in  the  belief,  that  our 
separation  from  those  whom  we  love  is  merely  corporeal; 
and  it  may  be  a  great  incitement  to  virtuous  friendship,  if 
it  can  be  made  probable,  that  that  union  that  has  received 
the  divine  approbation  shall  continue  to  eternity. 

'There  is  one  expedient  by  which  you  may,  in  some  de- 
gree, continue  her  presence.  If  you  write  down  minutely 
what  you  remember  of  her  from  j'our  earliest  years,  you  will 


50  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1750 

read  it  with' great  pleasure,  and  receive  from  it  many  hints 
of  soothing  recollection,  when  time  shall  remove  her  yet 
farther  from  you,  and  your  grief  shall  be  matured  to  venera- 
tion. To  this,  however  painful  for  the  present,  I  cannot 
but  advise  you,  as  to  a  source  of  comfort  and  satisfaction 
in  the  time  to  come;  for  all  comfort  and  all  satisfaction  is 
sincerely  wished  you  by,  dear  Sir,  your  most  obliged,  most 
obedient,  and  most  humble  servant, 

'Sam.  Johnson.' 

The  Rambler  has  increased  in  fame  as  in  age.  Soon  after 
its  first  folio  edition  was  concluded,  it  was  pubUshed  in  six 
duodecimo  volumes;  and  its  authour  lived  to  see  ten  numer- 
ous editions  of  it  in  London,  beside  those  of  Ireland  and 
Scotland. 

The  style  of  Johnson  was,  undoubtedly,  much  formed  upon 
that  of  the  great  writers  in  the  last  century,  Hooker,  Bacon, 
Sanderson,  Hakewell,  and  others;  those  'Giants,'  as  they 
were  well  characterised  by  a  great  Personage,  whose  au- 
thority, were  I  to  name  him,  would  stamp  a  reverence  on, 
the  opinion. 

Johnson  assured  me,  that  he  had  not  taken  up)on  him  to 
add  more  than  four  or  five  words  to  the  English  language, 
of  his  own  formation ;  and  he  was  very  much  offended  at  the 
general  licence,  by  no  means  'modestly  taken'  in  his  time, 
not  only  to  coin  new  words,  but  to  use  many  words  in  senses 
quite  different  from  their  established  meaning,  and  those 
frequently  very  fantastical. 

Sir  Thomas  Brown,  whose  life  Johnson  wrote,  was  remark- 
ably fond  of  Anglo-Latin  diction;  and  to  his  example  we 
are  to  ascribe  Johnson's  sometimes  indulging  himself  in  this 
kind  of  phraseology.  Johnson's  comprehension  of  mind  was 
the  mould  for  his  language.  Had  his  conceptions  been  nar- 
rower, his  expression  would  have  been  easier.  His  sentences 
have  a  dignified  march;  and,  it  is  certain,  that  his  example 
has  given  a  general  elevation  to  the  language  of  his  country, 
for  many  of  our  best  writers  have  approached  very  near  to 
him;  and,  from  the  influence  which  he  has  had  upon  our 
composition,  scarcely  any  thing  is  written  now  that  is  not 


17511  MRS.  ANNA  WILLIAMS  51 

better  expressed  than  was  usual  before  he  appeared  to  lead 
the  national  taste. 

Though  The  Rambler  was  not  concluded  till  the  year  1752, 
I  shall,  under  this  year,  say  all  that  I  have  to  observe  upon 
it.  Some  of  the  translations  of  the  mottos  by  himself  are 
admirably  done.  He  acknowledges  to  have  received  '  elegant 
translations'  of  many  of  them  from  Mr.  James  Elphinston; 
and  some  are  very  happily  translated  by  a  Mr.  F.  Lewis,  of 
whom  I  never  heard  more,  except  that  Johnson  thus  de- 
scribed him  to  Mr.  Malone:  'Sir,  he  lived  in  London,  and 
hung  loose  upon  society.' 

His  just  abhorrence  of  Milton's  political  notions  was  ever 
strong.  But  this  did  not  prevent  his  warm  admiration  of 
Milton's  great  poetical  merit,  to  which  he  has  done  illustrious 
justice,  beyond  all  who  have  written  upon  the  subject.  And 
this  year  he  not  only  wrote  a  Prologue,  which  was  spoken  by 
Mr.  Garrick  before  the  acting  of  Comus  at  Drurj'^-lane  theatre, 
for  the  benefit  of  Milton's  grand-daughter,  but  took  a  very 
zealous  interest  in  the  success  of  the  charity. 

1751 :  ^TAT.  42.] — In  1751  we  are  to  consider  him  as  car- 
rying on  both  his  Dictionary  and  Rambler. 

Though  Johnson's  circumstances  were  at  this  time  far  from 
being  easy,  his  humane  and  charitable  disposition  was  con- 
stantly exerting  itself.  Mrs.  Anna  Williams",  daughter  of  a 
very  ingenious  Welsh  physician,  and  a  woman  of  more  than 
ordinary  talents  and  literature,  having  come  to  London  in 
hopes  of  being  cured  of  a  cataract  in  both  her  eyes,  which 
afterwards  ended  in  total  blindness,  was  kindly  received  as 
a  constant  visitor  at  his  house  while  Mrs.  Johnson  lived;  and 
after  her  death,  having  come  under  his  roof  in  order  to  have 
an  operation  upon  her  eyes  performed  with  more  comfort  to 
her  than  in  lodgings,  she  had  an  apartment  from  him  during 
the  rest  of  her  life,  at  all  times  when  he  had  a  house. 

1752:  ^TAT.  4.3.] — In  1752  he  was  almost  entirely  occu- 
pied with  his  Dictionary.  The  last  paper  of  his  Rambler  was 
published  March  2,  this  year;  after  which,  there  was  a  cessa- 
tion for  some  time  of  any  exertion  of  his  talents  as  an  essay- 
ist. But,  in  the  same  year,  Dr.  Hawkesworth,  who  was  his 
warm  admirer,  and  a  studious  imitator  of  his  style,  and  then 


52  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1752 

lived  in  great  intimacy  with  him,  began  a  periodical  paper, 
entitled  The  Adventurer,  in  connection  with  other  gentlemen, 
one  of  whom  was  Johnson's  much-beloved  friend,  Dr.  Bath- 
urst;  and,  without  doubt,  they  received  many  valuable  hints 
from  his  conversation,  most  of  his  friends  having  been  so 
assisted  in  the  course  of  their  works. 

That  there  should  be  a  suspension  of  his  literary  labours 
during  a  part  of  the  j^ear  1752,  will  not  seem  strange,  when  it 
is  considered  that  soon  after  closing  his  Rambler,  he  suffered 
a  loss  which,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  affected  him  with  the 
deepest  distress.  For  on  the  17th  of  March,  O.S.,  his  wife 
died. 

The  following  very  solemn  and  affecting  prayer  was  found 
after  Dr.  Johnson's  decease,  by  his  servant,  Mr.  Francis 
Barber,  who  delivered  it  to  my  worthy  friend  the  Reverend 
^Ir.  Strahan,  Vicar  of  Islington,  who  at  my  earnest  request 
has  obligingly  favoured  me  with  a  copy  of  it,  which  he  and 
I  compared  with  the  original: 

'April  26,  1752,  being  after  12  at  Night  of  the  25th. 
'O  Lord!  Governour  of  heaven  and  earth,  in  whose  hands 
are  embodied  and  departed  Spirits,  if  thou  hast  ordained  the 
Souls  of  the  Dead  to  minister  to  the  Living,  and  appointed 
mj'  departed  Wife  to  have  care  of  me,  grant  that  I  may  enjoy 
the  good  effects  of  her  attention  and  ministration,  whether 
exercised  by  appearance,  impulses,  dreams  or  in  any  other 
manner  agreeable  to  thy  Government.  Forgive  my  presump- 
tion, enlighten  my  ignorance,  and  however  meaner  agents 
are  employed,  grant  me  the  blessed  influences  of  thy  holy 
Spirit,  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.    Amen.' 

That  his  love  for  his  wife  was  of  the  most  ardent  kind, 
and,  during  the  long  period  of  fifty  years,  was  unimpaired 
by  the  lapse  of  time,  is  evident  from  various  passages  in  the 
series  of  his  Prayers  and  Meditations,  published  by  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Strahan,  as  well  as  from  other  memorials,  two 
of  which  I  select,  as  strongly  marking  the  tenderness  and 
sensibility  <3f  his  mind. 

'March  28,  1753.     I  kept  this  day  as  the  anniversary  of 


17631  DEATH  OF  JOHNSON'S  WIFE  53 

my  Tetty's  death,  with  prayer  and  tears  in  the  morning. 
In  the  evening  I  prayed  for  her  conditionally,  if  it  were 
lawful.' 

'April  23,  1753.  I  know  not  whether  I  do  not  too  much 
indulge  the  vain  longings  of  affection;  but  I  hope  they 
intenerate  my  heart,  and  that  when  I  die  like  my  Tetty, 
this  affection  will  be  acknowledged  in  a  happy  interview, 
and  that  in  the  mean  time  I  am  incited  by  it  to  piety.  I 
will,  however,  not  deviate  too  much  from  common  and  re- 
ceived methods  of  devotion.' 

Her  wedding-ring,  when  she  became  his  wife,  was,  after 
her  death,  preserved  by  him,  as  long  as  he  lived,  with  an 
affectionate  care,  in  a  little  round  wooden  box,  in  the  inside 
of  which  he  pasted  a  slip  of  paper,  thus  inscribed  by  him 
in  fair  characters,  as  follows: 

'Eheu! 

Eliz.  Johnson, 

Nupta  Jul.  9°  1736, 

Mortua,  eheu  ! 

Mart.  17°  1752.' 

After  his  death,  Mr.  Francis  Barber,  his  faithful  servant 
and  residuary  legatee,  offered  this  memorial  of  tenderness  to 
Mrs.  Lucy  Porter,  Mrs.  Johnson's  daughter;  but  she  having 
declined  to  accept  of  it,  he  had  it  enamelled  as  a  mourning 
ring  for  his  old  master,  and  presented  it  to  his  wife,  Mrs. 
Barber,  who  now  has  it. 

I  have,  indeed,  been  told  by  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  who,  before 
her  marriage,  lived  for  some  time  with  Mrs.  Johnson  at 
Hampstead,  that  she  indulged  herself  in  countrj--  air  and  nice 
living,  at  an  unsuitable  expense,  while  her  husband  was 
drudging  in  the  smoke  of  London,  and  that  she  by  no  means 
treated  him  with  that  complacency  which  is  the  most  en- 
gaging quality  in  a  wife.  But  all  this  is  perfectly  compati- 
ble v^-ith  his  fondness  for  her,  especially  when  it  is  remem- 
bered that  he  had  a  high  opinion  of  her  understanding,  and 
that  the  impressions  which  her  beauty,  real  or  imaginary, 
had  originally  made  upon  his  fancy,  being  continued  by 


54  LIFE   OF   DR.   JOHNSON  [1752 

habit,  had  not  been  effaced,  though  she  herself  was  doubtless 
much  altered  for  the  worse.  The  dreadful  shock  of  separa- 
tion took  place  in  the  night;  and  he  immediately  dispatched 
a  letter  to  his  friend,  the  Reverend  Dr.  Taylor,  which,  as 
Taylor  told  me,  expressed  grief  in  the  strongest  manner  he 
had  ever  read;  so  that  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  it  has  not 
been  preserved.  The  letter  was  brought  to  Dr.  Taylor,  at 
his  house  in  the  Cloisters,  Westminster,  about  three  in  the 
morning;  and  as  it  signified  an  earnest  desire  to  see  him,  he 
got  up,  and  went  to  Johnson  as  soon  as  he  was  dressed,  and 
found  him  in  tears  and  in  extreme  agitation.  After  being 
a  little  while  together,  Johnson  requested  him  to  join  with 
him  in  prayer.  He  then  prayed  extempore,  as  did  Dr.  Tay- 
lor; and  thus,  by  means  of  that  piety  which  was  ever  his 
primary  object,  his  troubled  mind  was,  in  some  degree, 
soothed  and  composed. 

The  next  day  he  wrote  as  follows: 

'To  THE  Reverend  Dr.  Taylor. 

'Dear  Sir, — Let  me  have  your  company  and  instruction. 
Do  not  live  away  from  me.     My  distress  is  great. 

'Pray  desire  Mrs.  Taylor  to  inform  me  what  mourning 
I  should  buy  for  my  mother  and  Miss  Porter,  and  bring  a 
note  in  writing  with  you. 

'Remember  me  in  your  prayers,  for  vain  is  the  help  of 
man.     I  am,  dear  Sir,  &c. 

'March  18,  1752.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

That  his  sufferings  upon  the  death  of  his  wife  were  severe, 
beyond  what  are  commonly  endured,  I  have  no  doubt,  from 
the  information  of  many  who  were  then  about  him,  to  none 
of  whom  I  give  more  credit  than  to  Mr.  Francis  Barber,  his 
faithful  negro  servant,  who  came  into  his  family  about  a 
fortnight  after  the  dismal  event.  These  sufferings  were  ag- 
gravated by  the  melancholy  inherent  in  his  constitution; 
and  although  he  probably  was  not  oftener  in  the  wrong  than 
she  was,  in  the  little  disagreements  which  sometimes  troubled 
his  married  state,  during  which,  he  owned  to  me,  that  the 


1752]  PRAYERS  FOR  THE  DEAD  55 

gloomy  irritability  of  his  existence  was  more  painful  to  him 
than  ever,  he  might  very  naturally,  after  her  death,  be  ten- 
derly disposed  to  charge  himself  with  slight  omissions  and 
offences,  the  sense  of  which  would  give  him  much  uneasi- 
ness. Accordingly  we  find,  about  a  year  after  her  decease > 
that  he  thus  addressed  the  Supreme  Being:  '0  Lord,  who 
givest  the  grace  of  repentance,  and  hearest  the  prayers  of 
the  penitent,  grant  that  by  true  contrition  I  may  obtain 
forgiveness  of  all  the  sins  committed,  and  of  all  duties  neg- 
lected in  my  union  with  the  wife  whom  thou  hast  taken 
from  me;  for  the  neglect  of  joint  devotion,  patient  exhor- 
tation, and  mild  instruction.'  The  kindness  of  his  heart, 
notwithstanding  the  impetuosity  of  his  temper,  is  well  known 
to  his  friends;  and  I  cannot  trace  the  smallest  foundation 
for  the  following  dark  and  uncharitable  assertion  by  Sir  John 
Hawkins:  'The  apparition  of  his  departed  wife  was  alto- 
gether of  the  terrifick  kind,  and  hardly  afforded  him  a  hoj)e 
that  she  was  in  a  state  of  happiness.'  That  he,  in  con- 
formity with  the  opinion  of  many  of  the  most  able,  learned, 
and  pious  Christians  in  all  ages,  supposed  that  there  was 
a  middle  state  after  death,  previous  to  the  time  at  which 
departed  souls  are  finally  received  to  eternal  felicity,  appears, 
I  think,  unquestionably  from  his  devotions:  'And,  0  Lord, 
so  far  as  it  may  be  lawful  in  me,  I  conmiend  to  thy  fatherly 
goodness  the  soid  of  my  departed  wife;  beseeching  thee  to 
grant  her  whatever  is  best  in  her  present  state,  and  finally  to 
receive  her  to  eternal  happiness.'  But  this  state  has  not  been 
looked  up)on  with  horrour,  but  only  as  less  gracious. 

He  deposited  the  remains  of  Mrs.  Johnson  in  the  church 
of  Bromley,  in  Kent,  to  which  he  was  probably  led  by  the 
residence  of  his  friend  Hawkesworth  at  that  place.  The 
funeral  sermon  which  he  composed  for  her,  which  was  never 
preached,  but  having  been  given  to  Dr.  Taylor,  has  been 
published  since  his  death,  is  a  performance  of  uncommon 
excellence,  and  full  of  rational  and  pious  comfort  to  such  as 
are  depressed  by  that  severe  afiiiction  which  Johnson  felt 
when  he  wrote  it.  When  it  is  considered  that  it  was  written 
in  such  an  agitation  of  mind,  and  in  the  short  interval  be- 
tween her  death  and  burial,  it  cannot  be  read  without  wonder. 


56  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1752 

From  Mr.  Francis  Barber  I  have  had  the  following  authen- 
tick  and  artless  account  of  the  situation  in  which  he  found 
him  recently  after  his  wife's  death: 

'He  was  in  great  affliction.  Mrs.  Williams  was  then  liv- 
ing in  his  house,  which  was  in  Gough-square.  He  was  busy 
with  the  Dictionary.  Mr.  Shiels,  and  some  others  of  the 
gentlemen  who  had  formerly  written  for  him,  used  to  come 
about  him.  He  had  then  little  for  himself,  but  frequently 
sent  money  to  Mr.  Shiels  when  in  distress.  The  friends  who 
visited  him  at  that  time,  were  chiefly  Dr.  Bathurst,  and  Mr. 
Diamond,  an  apothecary  in  Cork-street,  Burlington-gardens, 
with  whom  he  and  Mrs.  Williams  generally  dined  every 
Sunday.  There  was  a  talk  of  his  going  to  Iceland  w'ith  him, 
which  would  probably  have  happened  had  he  lived.  There 
were  also  Mr.  Cave,  Dr.  Hawkesworth,  Mr.  Ryland,  mer- 
chant on  Tower  Hill,  Mrs.  Masters,  the  poetess,  who  lived 
with  Mr.  Cave,  Mrs.  Carter,  and  sometimes  Mrs.  Macaulay, 
also  Mrs.  Gardiner,  wife  of  a  tallow-chandler  on  Snow-hill, 
not  in  the  learned  way,  but  a  worthy  good  woman;  Mr.  (now 
Sir  Joshua)  Reynolds;  Mr.  Millar,  Mr.  Dodsley,  Mr.  Bouquet, 
Mr.  PajTie  of  Paternoster-row,  booksellers;  Mr.  Strahan,  the 
printer;  the  Earl  of  Orrerj',  Lord  Southwell,  Mr.  Garrick.' 

Many  are,  no  doubt,  omitted  in  this  catalogue  of  his 
friends,  and,  in  particular,  his  humble  friend  Mr.  Robert 
Levet,  an  obscure  practiser  in  physick  amongst  the  lower 
people,  his  fees  being  sometimes  very  small  sums,  some- 
times whatever  provisions  his  patients  could  afford  him ;  but 
of  such  extensive  practice  in  that  way,  that  Mrs.  Williams 
has  told  me,  his  walk  was  from  Hounsditch  to  Marybone. 
It  appears  from  Johnson's  diary  that  their  acquaintance 
commenced  about  the  year  1746;  and  such  was  Johnson's 
predilection  for  him,  and  fanciful  estimation  of  his  moderate 
abilities,  that  I  have  heard  him  say  he  should  not  be  satisfied, 
though  attended  by  all  the  College  of  Physicians,  unless  he 
had  Mr.  Levet  with  him.  Ever  since  I  was  acquainted  with 
Dr.  Johnson,  and  many  years  before,  as  I  have  been  assured 
by  those  who  knew  him  earlier,  Mr.  Levet  had  an  apartment 
in  his  house,  or  his  chambers,  and  waited  up)on  him  every 
morning,  through  the  whole  course  of  his  late  and  tedious 


1752]  JOHNSON'S  FRIENDS  IN   1752  57 

breakfast.  He  was  of  a  strange  grotesque  appearance,  stiff 
and  formal  in  his  manner,  and  seldom  said  a  word  while 
any  company  was  present. 

The  circle  of  his  friends,  indeed,  at  this  time  was  extensive 
and  various,  far  beyond  what  has  been  generally  imagined. 
To  trace  his  acquaintance  with  each  particular  person,  if 
it  could  be  done,  would  be  a  task,  of  which  the  labour 
would  not  be  repaid  by  the  advantage.  But  exceptions  are 
to  be  made;  one  of  which  must  be  a  friend  so  eminent  as 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  was  truly  his  dxdce  decus,  and  with 
whom  he  maintained  an  uninterrupted  intimacy  to  the  last 
hour  of  his  life.  When  Johnson  lived  in  Castle-street, 
Cavendish-square,  he  used  frequently  to  visit  two  ladies,  who 
lived  opposite  to  him.  Miss  Cotterells,  daughters  of  Admiral 
Cotterell.  Reynolds  used  also  to  visit  there,  and  thus  they 
met.  Mr.  Reynolds,  as  I  have  obser^^ed  above,  had,  from 
the  first  reading  of  his  Lije  of  Savage,  conceived  a  very  high 
admiration  of  Johnson's  powers  of  writing.  His  conversa- 
tion no  less  delighted  him;  and  he  cultivated  his  acquain- 
tance with  the  laudable  zeal  of  one  who  was  ambitious  of 
general  improvement.  Sir  Joshua,  indeed,  was  lucky  enough 
at  their  very  first  meeting  to  make  a  remark,  which  was  so 
much  above  the  common-place  style  of  conversation,  that 
Johnson  at  once  j)erceived  that  Reynolds  had  the  habit  of 
thinking  for  himself.  The  ladies  were  regretting  the  death 
of  a  friend,  to  whom  they  owed  great  obligations;  upon 
which  Reynolds  obsers^ed,  'You  have,  however,  the  comfort 
of  being  relieved  from  a  burthen  of  gratitude.'  They  were 
shocked  a  little  at  this  alleviating  suggestion,  as  too  selfish; 
but  Johnson  defended  it  in  his  clear  and  forcible  manner,  and 
was  much  pleased  with  the  mind,  the  fair  view  of  human 
nature,  which  it  exhibited,  like  some  of  the  reflections  of 
Rochefaucault.  The  consequence  was,  that  he  went  home 
with  Reynolds,  and  supped  with  him. 

Sir  Joshua  told  me  a  pleasant  characteristical  anecdote  of 
Johnson  about  the  time  of  their  first  acquaintance.  When 
they  were  one  evening  together  at  the  Miss  Cotterells',  the 
then  Duchess  of  Argyle  and  another  lady  of  high  rank  came 
in.    Johnson  thinking  that  the  Miss  Cotterells  were  too 


58  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1752 

much  engrossed  by  them,  and  that  he  and  his  friend  were 
neglected,  as  low  company  of  whom  they  were  somewhat 
ashamed,  grew  angry;  and  resolving  to  shock  their  supposed 
pride,  by  making  their  great  visitors  imagine  that  his  friend 
and  he  were  low  indeed,  he  addressed  himself  in  a  loud  tone 
to  Mr.  Reynolds,  saying,  'How  much  do  you  think  you  and 
I  could  get  in  a  week,  if  we  were  to  work  as  hard  as  we  could  ? ' 
— as  if  they  had  been  common  mechanicks. 

His  acquaintance  with  Bennet  Langton,  Esq.  of  Langton, 
in  Lincolnshire,  another  much  valued  friend,  commenced 
soon  after  the  conclusion  of  his  Rambler;  which  that  gentle- 
man, then  a  youth,  had  read  with  so  much  admiration,  that 
he  came  to  London  chiefly  with  the  view  of  endeavouring 
to  be  introduced  to  its  authour.  By  a  fortunate  chance  he 
happened  to  take  lodgings  in  a  house  where  Mr.  Levet  fre- 
quently visited;  and  having  mentioned  his  wish  to  his  land- 
lady, she  introduced  him  to  Mr.  Levet,  who  readily  obtained 
Johnson's  permission  to  bring  Mr,  Langton  to  him;  as, 
indeed,  Johnson,  during  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  had  no 
shyness,  real  or  affected,  but  was  easy  of  access  to  all  who 
were  properly  recommended,  and  even  wished  to  see  num- 
bers at  his  levee,  as  his  morning  circle  of  company  might, 
with  strict  propriety,  be  called.  Mr.  Langton  was  exceed- 
ingly surprised  when  the  sage  first  appeared.  He  had  not 
received  the  smallest  intimation  of  his  figure,  dress,  or  man- 
ner. From  perusing  his  writings,  he  fancied  he  should  see 
a  decent,  well-drest,  in  short,  remarkably  decorous  philos- 
opher. Instead  of  which,  down  from  his  bed-chamber,  about 
noon,  came,  as  newly  risen,  a  huge  uncouth  figure,  with  a 
little  dark  wig  which  scarcely  covered  his  head,  and  his 
clothes  hanging  loose  about  him.  But  his  conversation  was 
so  rich,  so  animated,  and  so  forcible,  and  his  religious  and 
political  notions  so  congenial  with  those  in  which  Langton 
had  been  educated,  that  he  conceived  for  him  that  venera- 
tion and  attachment  which  he  ever  preserved.  Johnson  was 
not  the  less  ready  to  love  Mr.  Langton,  for  his  being  of  a 
very  ancient  family;  for  I  have  heard  him  say,  with  pleasure, 
'Langton,  Sir,  has  a  grant  of  free  warren  from  Henry  the 
Second;  and  Cardinal  Stephen  Langton,  in  King  John's 
reign,  was  of  this  family.' 


17621  TOPHAM  BEAUCLERK  59 

Mr,  Langton  afterwards  went  to  pursue  his  studies  at 
Trinity  College,  Oxford,  where  he  formed  an  acquaintance 
with  his  fellow  student,  Mr.  Topham  Beauclerk;  who, 
though  their  opinions  and  modes  of  life  were  so  different, 
that  it  seemed  utterly  improbable  that  they  should  at  all 
agree,  had  so  ardent  a  love  of  literature,  so  acute  an  under- 
standing, such  elegance  of  manners,  and  so  well  discerned  the 
excellent  qualities  of  Mr.  Langton,  a  gentleman  eminent  not 
only  for  worth  and  learning,  but  for  an  inexhaustible  fund  of 
entertaining  conversation,  that  they  became  intimate  friends. 

Johnson,  soon  after  this  acquaintance  began,  passed  a 
considerable  time  at  Oxford.  He  at  first  thought  it  strange 
that  Langton  should  associate  so  much  with  one  who  had 
the  character  of  being  loose,  both  in  his  principles  and  prac- 
tice; but,  by  degrees,  he  himself  was  fascinated.  Mr. 
Beauclerk's  being  of  the  St.  Alban's  family,  and  having, 
in  some  particulars,  a  resemblance  to  Charles  the  Second, 
contributed,  in  Johnson's  imagination,  to  throw  a  lustre 
upon  his  other  qualities;  and,  in  a  short  time,  the  moral, 
pious  Johnson,  and  the  gay,  dissipated  Beauclerk,  were 
companions.  'What  a  coalition!  (said  Garrick,  when  he 
heard  of  this;)  I  shall  have  my  old  friend  to  bail  out  of  the 
Round-house.'  But  I  can  bear  testimony  that  it  was  a  very 
agreeable  association.  Beauclerk  was  too  polite,  and  valued 
learning  and  wit  too  much,  to  offend  Johnson  by  sallies  of 
infidelity  or  licentiousness;  and  Johnson  delighted  in  the 
good  qualities  of  Beauclerk,  and  hof)ed  to  correct  the  evil. 
Innumerable  were  the  scenes  in  which  Johnson  was  amused 
by  these  young  men.  Beauclerk  could  take  more  liberty 
with  him,  than  any  body  with  whom  I  ever  saw  him;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  Beauclerk  was  not  spared  by  his  respect- 
able companion,  when  reproof  was  proper.  Beauclerk  had 
such  a  propensity  to  satire,  that  at  one  time  Johnson  said 
to  him,  'You  never  open  your  mouth  but  with  intention  to 
give  pain;  and  you  have  often  given  me  pain,  not  from  the 
power  of  what  you  said,  but  from  seeing  your  intention.' 
At  another  time  applying  to  him,  with  a  slight  alteration, 
a  line  of  Pope,  he  said, 

'Thy  love  of  folly,  and  thy  scorn  of  fools — 


60  LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [1752 

Every  thing  thou  dost  shews  the  one,  and  every  thing  thou 
say'st  the  other.'  At  another  time  he  said  to  him,  'Thy 
body  is  all  vice,  and  thy  mind  all  virtue.'  Beauclerk  not 
seeming  to  reUsh  the  compliment,  Johnson  said,  'Nay,  Sir, 
Alexander  the  Great,  marching  in  triumph  into  Babylon, 
could  not  have  desired  to  have  had  more  said  to  him.' 

Johnson  was  some  time  with  Beauclerk  at  his  house  at 
Windsor,  where  he  was  entertained  with  experiments  in 
natural  philosophy.  One  Sunday,  when  the  weather  was 
very  fine,  Beauclerk  enticed  him,  insensibly,  to  saunter  about 
all  the  morning.  They  went  into  a  church-yard,  in  the  time 
of  divine  service,  and  Johnson  laid  himself  down  at  his  ease 
upon  one  of  the  tomb-stones.  'Now,  Sir,  (said  Beauclerk) 
you  are  like  Hogarth's  Idle  Apprentice.'  When  Johnson  got 
his  pension,  Beauclerk  said  to  him,  in  the  humorous  phrase 
of  Falstaff,  'I  hope  you'll  now  purge  and  live  cleanly  like  a 
gentleman.' 

One  night  when  Beauclerk  and  Langton  had  supped  at 
a  tavern  in  London,  and  sat  till  about  three  in  the  morning, 
it  came  into  their  heads  to  go  and  knock  up  Johnson,  and 
see  if  they  could  prevail  on  him  to  join  them  in  a  ramble. 
They  rapped  violently  at  the  door  of  his  chambers  in  the 
Temple,  till  at  last  he  appeared  in  his  shirt,  with  his  little 
black  wig  on  the  top  of  his  head,  instead  of  a  nightcap,  and 
a  poker  in  his  hand,  imagining,  probably,  that  some  ruffians 
were  coming  to  attack  him.  When  he  discovered  who  they 
were,  and  was  told  their  errand,  he  smiled,  and  with  great 
good  humour  agreed  to  their  proposal:  'What,  is  it  you,  you 
dogs !  I'll  have  a  frisk  with  you.'  He  was  soon  drest,  and 
they  sallied  forth  together  into  Co  vent-Garden,  where  the 
greengrocers  and  fruiterers  were  beginning  to  arrange  their 
hampers,  just  come  in  from  the  country.  Johnson  made 
some  attempts  to  help  them;  but  the  honest  gardeners  stared 
so  at  his  figure  and  manner,  and  odd  interference,  that  he 
soon  saw  his  services  were  not  relished.  They  then  repaired 
to  one  of  the  neighbouring  taverns,  and  made  a  bowl  of  that 
liquor  called  Bishop,  which  Johnson  had  always  liked ;  while 
in  joyous  contempt  of  sleep,  from  which  he  had  been  roused, 
he  repeated  the  festive  lines, 


1753)  THE  ADVENTURER  61 

'Short,  O  short  then  be  thy  reign, 
And  give  us  to  the  world  again ! ' 

They  did  not  stay  long,  but  walked  down  to  the  Thames, 
took  a  boat,  and  rowed  to  Billingsgate.  Beauclerk  and  John- 
son were  so  well  pleased  with  their  amusement,  that  they 
resolved  to  persevere  hi  dissipation  for  the  rest  of  the  day: 
but  Langton  deserted  them,  being  engaged  to  breakfast  with 
some  young  Ladies.  Johnson  scolded  him  for  'leaving  his 
social  friends,  to  go  and  sit  with  a  set  of  wretched  un-idea'd 
girls.'  Garrick  being  told  of  this  ramble,  said  to  him  smartly, 
'I  heard  of  your  frolick  t'other  night.  You'll  be  in  the 
Chronicle.'  Upon  which  Johnson  afterwards  observed,  'He 
durst  not  do  such  a  thing.     His  wife  would  not  let  him ! ' 

1753:  ^TAT.  44.] — He  entered  upon  this  year  1753  with 
his  usual  piety,  as  appears  from  the  following  prayer,  whick 
I  transcribed  from  that  part  of  his  diary  which  he  burnt  a 
few  days  before  his  death: 

'Jan.  1,  1753,  N.S.  which  I  shall  use  for  the  future. 

'Almighty  God,  who  hast  continued  my  life  to  this  day^ 
grant  that,  by  the  assistance  of  thy  Holy  Spirit,  I  may  im- 
prove the  time  which  thou  shalt  grant  me,  to  my  eternal 
salvation.  Make  me  to  remember,  to  thy  glory,  thy  judge- 
ments and  thy  mercies.  Make  me  so  to  consider  the  loss  of 
my  wife,  whom  thou  hast  taken  from  me,  that  it  may  dispose 
me,  by  thy  grace,  to  lead  the  residue  of  my  life  in  thy  fear. 
Grant  this,  O  Lord,  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake.     Amen.' 

He  now  relieved  the  drudgery  of  his  Dictionary,  and  the 
melancholy  of  his  grief,  by  taking  an  active  part  in  the  com- 
position of  The  Adventurer,  in  which  he  began  to  write  April 
10. 

In  one  of  the  books  of  his  diary  I  find  the  following 
entry: 

'Apr.  3,  1753.  I  began  the  second  vol.  of  my  Dictionary, 
room  being  left  in  the  first  for  Preface,  Grammar,  and  His- 
tory, none  of  them  yet  begun. 

'O  God,  who  hast  hitherto  supported  me,  enable  me  to 
proceed  in  this  labour,  and  in  the  whole  task  of  my  present 
state;  that  when  I  shall  render  up,  at  the  last  day,  an  ac- 


62  LIFE   OF   DR.   JOHNSON  [i754 

<!ount  of  the  talent  committed  to  me,  I  may  receive  pardon, 
for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ.     Amen.' 

1754:  tETAT.  45.] — The  Dictionary,  we  may  beUeve,  af- 
forded Johnson  full  occupation  this  year.  As  it  approached 
to  its  conclusion,  he  probably  worked  with  redoubled  vigour, 
as  seamen  increase  their  exertion  and  alacrity  wiien  they  have 
a,  near  prospect  of  their  haven. 

Lord  Chesterfield,  to  whom  Johnson  had  paid  the  high 
compliment  of  addressing  to  his  Lordship  the  Plan  of  his 
Dictionary,  had  behaved  to  him  in  such  a  manner  as  to  ex- 
cite his  contempt  and  indignation.  The  world  has  been  for 
many  years  amused  with  a  story  confidently  told,  and  as 
confidently  repeated  with  additional  circumstances,  that  a 
sudden  disgust  was  taken  by  Johnson  upon  occasion  of  his 
having  been  one  day  kept  long  in  waiting  in  his  Lordship's 
antechamber,  for  which  the  reason  assigned  was,  that  he 
had  company  with  him;  and  that  at  last,  when  the  door 
opened,  out  walked  Colley  Cibber;  and  that  Johnson  was 
so  violently  provoked  when  he  found  for  whom  he  had  been 
so  long  excluded,  that  he  went  away  in  a  passion,  and  never 
"would  return.  I  remember  having  mentioned  this  story  to 
■George  Lord  Lyttelton,  who  told  me,  he  was  very  intimate 
■with  Lord  Chesterfield;  and  holding  it  as  a  well-known 
truth,  defended  Lord  Chesterfield,  by  saying,  that  'Cibber, 
who  had  been  introduced  familiarly  by  the  back-stairs,  had 
probably  not  been  there  above  ten  minutes.'  It  may  seem 
strange  even  to  entertain  a  doubt  concerning  a  story  so  long 
and  so  widely  current,  and  thus  implicitly  adopted,  if  not 
sanctioned,  by  the  authority  which  I  have  mentioned;  but 
Johnson  himself  assured  me,  that  there  was  not  the  least 
foundation  for  it.  He  told  me,  that  there  never  was  any 
particular  incident  which  produced  a  quarrel  between  Lord 
Chesterfield  and  him;  but  that  his  Lordship's  continued 
neglect  was  the  reason  why  he  resolved  to  have  no  connec- 
tion with  him.  When  the  Dictionary  was  upon  the  eve  of 
publication.  Lord  Chesterfield,  who,  it  is  said,  had  flattered 
himself  with  expectations  that  Johnson  would  dedicate  the 
work  to  him,  attempted,  in  a  courtly  manner,  to  sooth,  and 
insinuate  himself  with  the  Sage,  conscious,  as  it  should  seem, 
of  the  cold  indifference  with  which  he  had  treated  its  learned 


17541    JOHNSON  AND  LORD  CHESTERFIELD        63 

authour;  and  further  attempted  to  conciliate  him,  by  writ- 
ing two  papers  in  The  World,  in  recommendation  of  the 
work;  and  it  must  be  confessed,  that  they  contain  some 
studied  compliments,  so  finely  turned,  that  if  there  had  been 
no  previous  offence,  it  is  probable  that  Johnson  would  have 
been  highly  delighted.*  Praise,  in  general,  was  pleasing  to 
him;  but  by  praise  from  a  man  of  rank  and  elegant  accom- 
plishments, he  was  peculiarly  gratified. 

This  courtly  device  failed  of  its  effect.  Johnson,  who 
thought  that  'all  was  false  and  hollow,'  despised  the  honeyed 
words,  and  was  even  indignant  that  Lord  Chesterfield  should, 
for  a  moment,  imagine  that  he  could  be  the  dupe  of  such  an 
artifice.  His  expression  to  me  concerning  Lord  Chesterfield, 
upon  this  occasion,  was,  '  Sir,  after  making  great  professions, 
he  had,  for  many  years,  taken  no  notice  of  me;  but  when 
my  Dictionary  was  coming  out,  he  fell  a  scribbling  in  The 
World  about  it.  Upon  which,  I  wrote  him  a  letter  expressed 
in  civil  terms,  but  such  as  might  shew  him  that  I  did  not 
mind  what  he  said  or  wrote,  and  that  I  had  done  with  him.' 

This  is  that  celebrated  letter  of  which  so  much  has  been 
said,  and  about  which  curiosity  has  been  so  long  excited, 
without  being  gratified.  I  for  many  years  solicited  Johnson 
to  favour  me  with  a  copy  of  it,  that  so  excellent  a  composi- 
tion might  not  be  lost  to  posterity.  He  delayed  from  time 
to  time  to  give  it  me;  till  at  last  in  1781,  when  we  were  on  a 
visit  at  Mr.  Dilly's,  at  Southill  in  Bedfordshire,  he  was  pleased 
to  dictate  it  to  me  from  memory.  He  afterwards  found  among 
his  papers  a  copy  of  it,  which  he  had  dictated  to  Mr.  Baretti, 
with  its  title  and  corrections,  in  his  own  handwriting.  This 
he  gave  to  Mr.  Langton ;  adding  that  if  it  were  to  come  into 
print,  he  wished  it  to  be  from  that  copy.  By  Mr.  Langton's 
kindness,  I  am  enabled  to  enrich  my  work  with  a  perfect 
transcript  of  what  the  world  has  so  eagerly  desired  to  see. 

'To  THE  Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield. 

'February  7,  1755. 

'My  Lord,  I  have  been  lately  informed,  by  the  proprietor 

of  The  World,  that  two  papers,  in  which  my  Dictionary  is 

'  Boswell  could  not  have  read  the  second  paper  carefully.  It  is 
silly  and  Indecent,  and  was  certain  to  offend  Johnson.— :£o. 


64  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i754 

recommended  to  the  publick,  were  written  by  your  Lordship. 
To  be  so  distinguished,  is  an  honour,  which,  being  very  Httle 
accustomed  to  favours  from  the  great,  I  know  not  well  how 
to  receive,  or  in  what  terms  to  acknowledge. 

'When,  upon  some  slight  encouragement,  I  first  visited 
your  Lordship,  I  was  overpowered,  like  the  rest  of  mankind, 
by  the  enchantment  of  your  address;  and  could  not  forbear 
to  wish  that  I  might  boast  myself  Le  vainqueiir  du  vainnneur 
de  la  terre; — that  I  might  obtain  that  regard  for  which  I  saw 
the  world  contending;  but  I  found  my  attendance  so  little 
encouraged,  that  neither  pride  nor  modesty  would  suffer  me 
to  continue  it.  When  I  had  once  addressed  your  Lordship 
in  publick,  I  had  exhausted  all  the  art  of  pleasing  which  a 
retired  and  uncourtly  scholar  can  possess.  I  had  done  all 
that  I  could;  and  no  man  is  well  pleased  to  have  his  all 
neglected,  be  it  ever  so  little. 

'Seven  years,  my  Lord,  have  now  past,  since  I  waited  in 
your  outward  rooms,  or  was  repulsed  from  your  door;  dur- 
ing which  time  I  have  been  pushing  on  my  work  through 
difficulties,  of  which  it  is  useless  to  complain,  and  have 
brought  it,  at  last,  to  the  verge  of  publication,  without  one 
act  of  assistance,  one  word  of  encouragement,  or  one  smile 
of  favour.  Such  treatment  I  did  not  expect,  for  I  never  had 
a  Patron  before. 

'The  shepherd  in  Virgil  grew  at  last  acquainted  with 
Love,  and  found  him  a  native  of  the  rocks. 

'  Is  not  a  Patron,  my  Lord,  one  who  looks  with  unconcern 
on  a  man  struggling  for  life  in  the  water,  and,  when  he  has 
reached  ground,  encumbers  him  with  help?  The  notice 
which  you  have  been  pleased  to  take  of  my  labours,  had  it 
been  early,  had  been  kind;  but  it  has  been  delayed  till  I  am 
indifferent,  and  cannot  enjoy  it;  till  I  am  solitary,  and  can- 
not impart  it;  till  I  am  known,  and  do  not  want  it.  I  hope 
it  is  no  very  cynical  asperity  not  to  confess  obligations  where 
no  benefit  has  been  received,  or  to  be  unwilling  that  the 
Publick  should  consider  me  as  owing  that  to  a  Patron, 
which  Providence  has  enabled  me  to  do  for  myself. 

'Having  carried  on  my  work  thus  far  with  so  little  obliga- 
tion to  any  favourer  of  learning,  I  shall  not  be  disappointed 


17641  HIS  OPINION  OF  WARBURTON  65 

though  I  should  conclude  it,  if  less  be  possible,  with  less; 
for  I  have  been  long  wakened  from  that  dream  of  hope,  in 
which  I  once  boasted  myself  with  so  much  exultation,  my 
Lord,  your  Lordship's  most  humble,  most  obedient  servant, 

'Sam  Johnson.' 

'While  this  was  the  talk  of  the  town,(says  Dr.  Adams,  in 
a  letter  to  me)  I  happened  to  visit  Dr.  Warburton,  who 
finding  that  I  was  acquainted  with  Johnson,  desired  me 
earnestly  to  carry  his  compliments  to  him,  and  to  tell  him, 
that  he  honoured  him  for  his  manly  behaviour  in  rejecting 
these  condescensions  of  Lord  Chesterfield,  and  for  resenting 
the  treatment  he  had  received  from  him,  with  a  proper  spirit. 
Johnson  was  visibly  plea.sed  with  this  compliment,  for  he 
had  always  a  high  opinion  of  Warburton.  Indeed,  the 
force  of  mind  which  appeared  in  this  letter,  was  congenial 
with  that  which  Warburton  himself  amply  possessed.' 

There  is  a  curious  minute  circumstance  which  struck  me, 
in  comparing  the  various  editions  of  Johnson's  imitations 
of  Juvenal.  In  the  tenth  Satire,  one  of  the  couplets  upon 
the  vanity  of  wishes  even  for  literary  distinction  stood  thus: 

'Yet  think  what  ills  the  scholar's  life  assail. 
Pride,  envy,  want,  the  garret,  and  the  jail.' 

But  after  experiencing  the  uneasiness  which  Lord  Chester- 
field's fallacious  patronage  made  him  feel,  he  dismissed  the 
word  garj'et  from  the  sad  group,  and  in  all  the  subsequent 
editions  the  line  stands 

'Pride,  envy,  want,  the  Patron,  and  the  jail.' 

That  Lord  Chesterfield  must  have  been  mortified  by  the 
lofty  contempt,  and  polite,  yet  keen  satire  with  which  John- 
son exhibited  him  to  himself  in  this  letter,  it  is  impossible 
to  doubt.  He,  however,  with  that  glossy  duplicity  which 
was  his  constant  study,  affected  to  be  quite  unconcerned. 
Dr.  Adams  mentioned  to  Mr.  Robert  Dodsley  that  he  was 
sorry  Johnson  had  written  his  letter  to  Lord  Chesterfield. 
Dodsley,  with  the  true  feelings  of  trade,  said  'he  was  very 


66  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i754 

sorry  too;  for  that  he  had  a  property  in  the  Dictionary,  to 
which  his  Lordship's  patronage  might  have  been  of  conse- 
quence.' He  then  told  Dr.  Adams,  that  Lord  Chesterfield 
had  shewn  him  the  letter.  'I  should  have  imagined  (re- 
plied Dr.  Adams)  that  Lord  Chesterfield  would  have  con- 
cealed it.'  'Poh!  (said  Dodsley)  do  you  think  a  letter  from 
Johnson  could  hurt  Lord  Chesterfield?  Not  at  all,  Sir.  It 
lay  upon  his  table,  where  any  body  might  see  it.  He  read 
it  to  me;  said,  "this  man  has  great  powers,"  pointed  out 
the  severest  passages,  and  observed  how  well  they  were  ex- 
pressed.' This  air  of  indifference,  which  imposed  upon  the 
worthy  Dodsley,  was  certainly  nothing  but  a  specimen  of 
that  dissimulation  which  Lord  Chesterfield  inculcated  as 
one  of  the  most  essential  lessons  for  the  conduct  of  life.  His 
Lordship  endeavoured  to  justify  himself  to  Dodsley  from 
the  charges  brought  against  him  by  Johnson;  but  we  may 
judge  of  the  flimsiness  of  his  defence,  from  his  having  ex- 
cused his  neglect  of  Johnson,  by  saying  that  'he  had  heard 
he  had  changed  his  lodgings,  and  did  not  know  where  he 
lived ; '  as  if  there  could  have  been  the  smallest  difficulty  to 
inform  himself  of  that  circumstance,  by  inquiring  in  the 
literary  circle  with  which  his  Lordship  was  well  acquainted, 
and  was,  indeed,  himself  one  of  its  ornaments. 

Dr.  Adams  expostulated  with  Johnson,  and  suggested, 
that  his  not  being  admitted  when  he  called  on  him,  was, 
probably,  not  to  be  imputed  to  Lord  Chesterfield;  for  his 
Lordship  had  declared  to  Dodsley,  that  'he  would  have 
turned  off  the  best  servant  he  ever  had,  if  he  had  known 
that  he  denied  him  to  a  man  who  would  have  been  always 
more  than  welcome;'  and,  in  confirmation  of  this,  he  in- 
sisted on  Lord  Chesterfield's  general  affability  and  easiness 
of  access,  especially  to  literary  men.  'Sir  (said  Johnson) 
that  is  not  Lord  Chesterfield;  he  is  the  proudest  man  this 
day  existing.'  'No,  (said  Dr.  Adams)  there  is  one  person, 
at  least,  as  proud;  I  think,  by  your  own  account,  you  are 
the  prouder  man  of  the  two.'  'But  mine  (replied  Johnson, 
instantly)  was  defensive  pride.'  This,  as  Dr.  Adams  well 
observed,  was  one  of  those  happy  turns  for  which  he  was  so 
remarkably  ready. 


17641  JOHNSON  VISITS  OXFORD  67 

Johnson  having  now  expHcitly  avowed  his  opinion  of  Lord 
Chesterfield,  did  not  refrain  from  expressing  himself  con- 
cerning that  nobleman  with  pointed  freedom:  'This  man 
(said  he)  I  thought  had  been  a  Lord  among  wits;  but,  I  find, 
he  is  only  a  wit  among  Lords!'  And  when  his  Letters  to 
his  natural  son  were  published,  he  observed,  that  'they 
teach  the  morals  of  a  whore,  and  the  manners  of  a  dancing 
master.' 

On  the  6th  of  March  came  out  Lord  Bolingbroke's  works, 
published  by  Mr.  David  Mallet.  The  wild  and  pernicious 
ravings,  under  the  name  of  Philosophy,  which  were  thus 
ushered  into  the  world,  gave  great  offence  to  all  well-prin- 
cipled men.  Johnson,  hearing  of  their  tendency,  which  no- 
body disputed,  was  roused  with  a  just  indignation,  and  pro- 
nounced this  memorable  sentence  upon  the  noble  authour 
and  his  editor.  'Sir,  he  was  a  scoundrel,  and  a  coward:  a 
scoundrel,  for  charging  a  blunderbuss  against  religion  and 
morality;  a  coward,  because  he  had  not  resolution  to  fire  it 
off  himself,  but  left  half  a  crown  to  a  beggarly  Scotchman,, 
to  draw  the  trigger  after  his  death ! ' 

Johnson  this  year  found  an  interval  of  leisure  to  make  an 
excursion  to  Oxford,  for  the  purpose  of  consulting  the  li- 
braries there. 

Of  his  conversation  while  at  Oxford  at  this  time,  Mr. 
Warton  preserved  and  communicated  to  me  the  following 
memorial,  which,  though  not  written  with  all  the  care  and 
attention  which  that  learned  and  elegant  writer  bestowed 
on  those  compositions  which  he  intended  for  the  publick 
eye,  is  so  happily  expressed  in  an  easy  style,  that  I  should 
injure  it  by  any  alteration: 

'  When  Johnson  came  to  Oxford  in  1754,  the  long  vacation 
was  beginning,  and  most  people  were  leaving  the  place. 
This  was  the  first  time  of  his  being  there,  after  quitting  the 
University.  The  next  morning  after  his  arrival,  he  wished 
to  see  his  old  College,  Pembroke.  I  went  with  him.  He 
was  highly  pleased  to  find  all  the  College-servants  which 
he  had  left  there  still  remaining,  particularly  a  very  old 
butler;  and  expressed  great  satisfaction  at  being  recog- 
nised by  them,  and  conversed  with  them  familiarly.     He 


68  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i754 

waited  on  the  master,  Dr.  Radcliffe,  who  received  him  very 
coldly.  Johnson  at  least  expected,  that  the  master  would 
order  a  copy  of  his  Dictionary,  now  near  pubhcation:  but 
the  master  did  not  choose  to  talk  on  the  subject,  never 
asked  Johnson  to  dine,  nor  even  to  visit  him,  while  he 
stayed  at  Oxford.  After  we  had  left  the  lodgings,  Johnson 
said  to  me,  "There  lives  a  inan,  who  lives  by  the  revenues 
of  literature,  and  will  not  move  a  finger  to  support  it.  If  I 
come  to  live  at  Oxford,  I  shall  take  up  my  abode  at  Trinity." 
We  then  called  on  the  Reverend  Mr.  Meeke,  one  of  the 
fellows,  and  of  Johnson's  standing.  Here  was  a  most  cor- 
dial greeting  on  both  sides.  On  leaving  him,  Johnson  said, 
"I  used  to  think  Meeke  had  excellent  parts,  when  we  were 
toys  together  at  the  College :  but,  alas ! 

'Lost  in  a  convent's  solitary  gloom!' 

1  remember,  at  the  classical  lecture  in  the  Hall,  I  could 
not  bear  Meeke's  superiority,  and  I  tried  to  sit  as  far  from 
him  as  I  could,  that  I  might  not  hear  him  construe." 

'As  we  were  leaving  the  College,  he  said,  "Here  I  trans- 
lated Pope's  Messiah.  Which  do  you  think  is  the  best  line 
in  it? — My  own  favourite  is, 

*  Valiis  aromaticas  fundit  Saronica  nubes.' " 

I  told  him,  I  thought  it  a  verj^  sonorous  hexameter.  I  did 
not  tell  him,  it  was  not  in  the  Virgilian  style.  He  much 
regretted  that  his  first  tutor  was  dead;  for  whom  he  seemed 
to  retain  the  greatest  regard.  He  said,  "I  once  had  been 
a  whole  morning  sliding  in  Christ-Church  Meadow,  and 
missed  his  lecture  in  logick.  After  dinner,  he  sent  for  me 
to  his  room.  I  expected  a  sharp  rebuke  for  my  idleness, 
and  went  with  a  beating  heart.  When  we  were  seated,  he 
told  me  he  had  sent  for  me  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  him, 
and  to  tell  me,  he  was  not  angry  with  me  for  missing  his 
lecture.  This  was,  in  fact,  a  most  severe  reprimand.  Some 
more  of  the  boys  were  then  sent  for,  and  we  spent  a  very 
pleasant  afternoon."  Besides  Mr.  Meeke,  there  was  only 
one  other  Fellow  of  Pembroke  now  resident:   from  both  of 


1754]  MR.  WISE'S  HOUSE  69 

whom  Johnson  received  the  greatest  civilities  during  this 
visit,  and  they  pressed  him  very  much  to  have  a  room  in  the 
College. 

'In  the  course  of  this  visit  (1754),  Johnson  and  I  walked, 
three  or  four  times,  to  Ellsfield,  a  village  beautifully  situated 
about  three  miles  from  Oxford,  to  see  Mr.  Wise,  Radclivian 
librarian,  with  whom  Johnson  was  much  pleased.  At  this 
place,  Mr.  Wise  had  fitted  up  a  house  and  gardens,  in  a 
singular  manner,  but  with  great  taste.  Here  was  an  excel- 
lent library;  particularly,  a  valuable  collection  of  books  in 
Northern  literature,  with  which  Johnson  was  often  very 
busy.  One  day  Mr.  Wise  read  to  us  a  dissertation  which  he 
was  preparing  for  the  press,  in  titled,  "A  History  and  Chro- 
nology of  the  fabulous  Ages."  Some  old  divinities  of  Thrace, 
related  to  the  Titans,  and  called  the  Cabiri,  made  a  very 
imp)ortant  part  of  the  theory  of  this  piece;  and  in  conversa- 
tion afterwards,  Mr.  Wise  talked  much  of  his  Cabiri.  As  we 
returned  to  Oxford  in  the  evening,  I  out-walked  Johnson, 
and  he  cried  out  Sufflamina,  a  Latin  word  which  came  from 
his  mouth  with  peculiar  grace,  and  was  as  much  as  to  say, 
Put  on  your  drag  chain.  Before  we  got  home,  I  again  walked 
too  fast  for  him;  and  he  now  cried  out,  "Why,  you  walk  as 
if  you  were  pursued  by  all  the  Cabiri  in  a  bodj'."  In  an 
evening,  we  frequently  took  long  walks  from  Oxford  into  the 
countrj',  returning  to  supper.  Once,  in  our  way  home,  we 
viewed  the  ruins  of  the  abbies  of  Oseney  and  Rewley,  near 
Oxford.  After  at  least  half  an  hour's  silence,  Johnson  said, 
"I  viewed  them  with  indignation!"  We  had  then  a  long 
conversation  on  Gothick  buildings;  and  in  talking  of  the 
form  of  old  halls,  he  said,  "In  these  halls,  the  fire  place  was 
anciently  always  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  till  the  Whigs 
removed  it  on  one  side." — About  this  time  there  had  been 
an  execution  of  two  or  three  criminals  at  Oxford  on  a  Mon- 
day. Soon  afterwards,  one  day  at  dinner,  I  was  saying  that 
Mr.  Swinton  the  chaplain  of  the  gaol,  and  also  a  frequent 
preacher  before  the  University,  a  learned  man,  but  often 
thoughtless  and  absent,  preached  the  condemnation-sermon 
on  repentance,  before  the  convicts,  on  the  preceding  day, 
Sunday;  and  that  in  the  close  he  told  his  audience,  that  he 


70  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1754 

should  give  them  the  remainder  of  what  he  had  to  say  on  the 
subject,  the  next  Lord's  Day.  Upon  which,  one  of  our  com- 
pany, a  Doctor  of  Divinity,  and  a  plain  matter-of-fact  man, 
by  way  of  offering  an  ap>ology  for  Mr.  Swinton,  gravely  re- 
marked, that  he  had  probably  preached  the  same  sermon 
before  the  University:  "Yes,  Sir,  (says  Johnson)  but  the 
University  were  not  to  be  hanged  the  next  morning." 

'I  forgot  to  observe  before,  that  when  he  left  Mr.  Meeke, 
(as  I  have  told  above)  he  added,  "About  the  same  time  of 
life,  Meeke  was  left  behind  at  Oxford  to  feed  on  a  Fellowship, 
and  I  went  to  London  to  get  my  living:  now,  Sir,  see  the 
difference  of  our  literary  characters!'" 

The  degree  of  Master  of  Arts,  which,  it  has  been  observed, 
could  not  be  obtained  for  him  at  an  early  period  of  his  life, 
was  now  considered  as  an  honour  of  considerable  importance, 
in  order  to  grace  the  title-page  of  his  Dictionary  ;  and  his 
character  in  the  literary  world  being  by  this  time  deservedly 
high,  his  friends  thought  that,  if  prop)er  exertions  were  made, 
the  tjniversity  of  Oxford  would  pay  him  the  compliment. 

To  THE  Reverend  Thomas  Warton. 

'Dear  Sir, —  I  am  extremely  sensible  of  the  favour  done 
me,  both  by  Mr.  Wise  and  yourself.  The  book^  cannot,  I 
think,  be  printed  in  less  than  six  weeks,  nor  probably  so 
soon;  and  I  will  keep  back  the  title-page,  for  such  an  inser- 
tion as  you  seem  to  promise  me.  .  .  . 

'  I  had  lately  the  favour  of  a  letter  from  your  brother,  with 
some  account  of  poor  Collins,  for  whom  I  am  much  concerned. 
I  have  a  notion,  that  by  very  great  temperance,  or  more 
properly  abstinence,  he  may  yet  recover.  .  .  . 

'You  know  poor  Mr.  Dodsley  has  lost  his  wife;  I  believe 
he  is  much  affected.  I  hope  he  will  not  suffer  so  much  as 
I  yet  suffer  for  the  loss  of  mine. 

Oiliot.     Tt  B'  oTfAot;  ©vfiTa  yip  icsicdvOaii.sv. 

I  have  ever  since  seemed  to  myself  broken  off  from  mankind ; 
a  kind  of  solitary  wanderer  in  the  wild  of  life,  without  any 

1  'His  Dictionary'.' — Warton. 


1765!  HIS  DICTIONARY  COMPLETED  71 

direction,  or  fixed  point  of  view:  a  gloomy  gazer  on  a  world 
to  which  I  have  little  relation.  Yet  I  would  endeavour,  by 
the  help  of  you  and  your  brother,  to  supply  the  want  of  closer 
union,  by  friendship:  and  hope  to  have  long  the  pleasure  of 
being,  dear  Sir,  most  affectionately  your's, 

'[London.]  Dec.  21,  1754.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

1755:  iETAT.  46.] — In  1755  we  behold  him  to  great  advan- 
tage; his  degree  of  Master  of  Arts  conferred  upon  him,  his 
Dictionary  published,  his  correspondence  animated,  his  be- 
nevolence exercised. 

Mr.  Charles  Burney,  who  has  since  distinguished  himself 
so  much  in  the  science  of  Musick,  and  obtained  a  Doctor's 
degree  from  the  University  of  Oxford,  had  been  driven  from 
the  capital  by  bad  health,  and  was  now  residing  at  Lynne 
Regis,  in  Norfolk.  He  had  been  so  much  delighted  with 
Johnson's  Rambler  and  the  Plan  of  his  Dictionary,  that  when 
the  great  work  was  announced  in  the  news-papers  as  nearly 
finished,  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Johnson,  begging  to  be  informed 
when  and  in  what  manner  his  Dictionary  would  be  published ; 
intreating,  if  it  should  be  by  subscription,  or  he  should  have 
any  books  at  his  own  disposal,  to  be  favoured  with  six  copies 
for  himself  and  friends. 

In  answer  to  this  application.  Dr.  Johnson  wrote  the 
following  letter,  of  which  (to  use  Dr.  Burney's  own  words) 
'  if  it  be  remembered  that  it  was  written  to  an  obscure  young 
man,  who  at  this  time  had  not  much  distinguished  himself 
even  in  his  own  profession,  but  whose  name  could  never  have 
reached  the  authour  of  The  Rambler,  the  pwUteness  and  ur- 
banity may  be  opposed  to  some  of  the  stories  which  have 
been  lately  circulated  of  Dr.  Johnson's  natural  rudeness  and 
ferocity.' 

'To  Mr.  Burney,  in  Lynne  Regis,  Norfolk. 

'Sir, — If  you  imagine  that  by  delajdng  my  answer  I  in- 
tended to  shew  any  neglect  of  the  notice  with  which  you 
have  favoured  me,  you  will  neither  think  justly  of  yourself 
nor  of  me.     Your  civilities  were  offered  with  too  much  ele- 


72  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1755 

gance  not  to  engage  attention;  and  J  have  too  much  pleasure 
in  pleasing  men  like  you,  not  to  feel  very  sensibly  the  dis- 
tinction which  you  have  bestowed  upon  me. 

'  Few  consequences  of  my  endeavours  to  please  or  to  bene- 
fit mankind  have  delighted  me  more  than  j'our  friendship 
thus  voluntarily  offered,  which  now  I  have  it  I  hope  to  keep, 
because  I  hope  to  continue  to  deserve  it. 

'I  have  no  Dictionaries  to  dispose  of  for  myself,  but  shall 
be  glad  to  have  you  direct  your  friends  to  Mr.  Dodsley, 
because  it  was  by  his  recommendation  that  I  was  employed 
in  the  work. 

'When  you  have  leisure  to  think  again  upon  me,  let  me  be 
favoured  with  another  letter;  and  another  yet,  when  you 
have  looked  into  my  Dictionary.  If  you  find  faults,  I  shall 
endeavour  to  mend  them;  if  you  find  none,  I  shall  think  you 
blinded  by  kind  partiality:  but  to  have  made  you  partial 
in  his  favour,  will  very  much  gratify  the  ambition  of.  Sir, 
your  most  obliged  and  most  humble  servant, 

'Sam.  Johnson.' 

'  Gough-square,  Fleet-street,  April  8,  1755.' 

The  Dictionary,  with  a  Grammar  and  History  of  the  English 
Language,  being  now  at  length  published,  in  two  volumes 
folio,  the  world  contemplated  with  wonder  so  stupendous 
a  work  atchieved  by  one  man,  while  other  countries  had 
thought  such  undertakings  fit  only  for  whole  academies. 
Vast  as  his  powers  were,  I  cannot  but  think  that  his  imagi- 
nation deceived  him,  when  he  supposed  that  by  constant 
application  he  might  have  performed  the  task  in  three  years. 

The  extensive  reading  which  was  absolutely  necessary  for 
the  accumulation  of  authorities,  and  which  alone  may  ac- 
count for  Johnson's  retentive  mind  being  enriched  with  a 
very  large  and  various  store  of  knowledge  and  imagery,  must 
have  occupied  several  years.  The  Preface  furnishes  an  emi- 
nent instance  of  a  double  talent,  of  which  Johnson  was  fully 
conscious.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  heard  him  say,  'There  are 
two  things  which  I  am  confident  I  can  do  very  well:  one  is 
an  introduction  to  any  literary  work,  stating  what  it  is  to 
contain,  and  how  it  should  be  executed  in  the  most  perfect 


m 
cai 
auti 
A 
Thi 
mef 
incc 
ann 
so  ii 
inst 
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of 
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t- 
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f: 

M 
U 

7 


d 


1765]    A  SCHEME  OF  CONDUCT  FOR  SUNDAY    75 

presses  himself)  'not  without  an  habitual  reverence  for  the 
Sabbath,  yet  without  that  attention  to  its  religious  duties 
which  Christianity  requires; 

'  1.  To  rise  early,  and  in  order  to  it,  to  go  to  sleep  early  on 
Saturday. 

'2.  To  use  some  extraordinary  devotion  in  the  morning. 

'3.  To  examine  the  tenourof  my  life,  and  particularly  the 
last  week;  and  to  mark  my  advances  in  religion,  or  recession 
from  it. 

'4.  To  read  the  Scripture  methodically  with  such  helps 
as  are  at  hand. 

'5.  To  go  to  church  twice. 

'6.  To  read  books  of  Divinity,  either  speculative  or  prac- 
tical. 

'7.  To  instruct  my  family. 

'8.  To  wear  off  by  meditation  any  worldly  soil  contracted 
in  the  week.' 

1756:  ^TAT.  47.] — In  1756  Johnson  found  that  the  great 
fame  of  his  Dictionary  had  not  set  him  above  the  necessity  of 
'making  provision  for  the  day  that  was  passing  over  him.' 
No  royal  or  noble  patron  extended  a  munificent  hand  to  give 
independence  to  the  man  who  had  conferred  stability  on  the 
language  of  his  country.  We  may  feel  indignant  that  there 
should  have  been  such  unworthy  neglect;  but  we  must,  at 
the  same  time,  congratulate  ourselves,  when  we  consider, 
that  to  this  verj'  neglect,  operating  to  rouse  the  natural  indo- 
lence of  his  constitution,  we  owe  many  valuable  productions, 
which  otherwise,  perhaps,  might  never  have  appeared. 

He  had  spent,  during  the  progress  of  the  work,  the  money 
for  which  he  had  contracted  to  write  his  Dictionary.  We 
have  seen  that  the  reward  of  his  labour  was  only  fifteen  hun- 
dred and  seventy-five  pounds;  and  when  the  expence  of 
amanuenses  and  paper,  and  other  articles  are  deducted,  his 
clear  profit  was  very  inconsiderable.  I  once  said  to  him, 
'I  am  sorry.  Sir,  you  did  not  get  more  for  your  Dictionary.' 
His  answer  was,  'I  am  sorry,  too.  But  it  was  very  well. 
The  booksellers  are  generous,  liberal-minded  men.'  He, 
upon  all  occasions,  did  ample  justice  to  their  character  in 
this  respect.     He  considered  them  as  the  patrons  of  litera- 


76  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1735 

ture;  and,  indeed,  although  they  have  eventually  been  con- 
siderable gainers  by  his  Dictionary,  it  is  to  them  that  we 
owe  its  having  been  undertaken  and  carried  through  at  the 
risk  of  great  expence,  for  they  were  not  absolutely  sure  of 
being  indemnified. 

He  this  j^ear  resumed  his  scheme  of  giving  an  edition  of 
Shakspeare  with  notes. ^  He  issued  Proposals  of  considerable 
length,  in  which  he  shewed  that  he  perfectly  well  knew 
what  a  variety  of  research  such  an  undertaking  required; 
but  his  indolence  prevented  him  from  pursuing  it  with  that 
diligence  which  alone  can  collect  those  scattered  facts  that 
genius,  however  acute,  penetrating,  and  luminous,  cannot 
discover  by  its  own  force.  It  is  remarkable,  that  at  this 
time  his  fancied  activity  was  for  the  moment  so  vigorous,  that 
he  promised  his  work  should  be  published  before  Christmas, 
1757.  Yet  nine  years  elapsed  before  it  saw  the  light.  His 
throes  in  bringing  it  forth  had  been  severe  and  remittent; 
and  at  last  we  may  almost  conclude  that  the  Caesarian 
operation  was  performed  by  the  knife  of  Churchill,  whose 
Upbraiding  satire,  I  dare  say,  made  Johnson's  friends  urge 
him  to  dispatch. 

'He  for  subscribers  bates  his  hook, 
And  takes  your  cash;  but  where' s  the  book? 
No  matter  where;  wise  fear,  you  know, 
Forbids  the  robbing  of  a  foe; 
But  what,  to  serve  our  private  ends, 
Forbids  the  cheating  of  our  friends?' 

About  this  period  he  was  offered  a  living  of  considerable 
value  in  Lincolnshire,  if  he  were  inclined  to  enter  into  holy 
orders.  It  was  a  rectory  in  the  gift  of  Mr.  Langton,  the 
father  of  his  much  valued  friend.  But  he  did  not  accept  of 
it;  partly  I  believe  from  a  conscientious  motive,  being  per- 
suaded that  his  temper  and  habits  rendered  him  unfit  for 
that  assiduous  and  familiar  instruction  of  the  vulgar  and 
ignorant  which  he  held  to  be  an  essential  duty  in  a  clergy- 
man; and  partly  because  his  love  of  a  London  life  was  so 
strong,  that  he  would  have  thought  himself  an  exile  in  any 
'  First  proposed  in  1845. — Ed. 


17571  PRAISE  VERY  SCARCE  77 

other  place,  particularly  if  residing  in  the  country.  Who- 
ever would  wish  to  see  his  thoughts  upon  that  subject  dis- 
played in  their  full  force,  may  peruse  The  Adventurer,  Num- 
ber 126. 

1757 :  vETAT.  48.] — Mr.  Burnet  having  enclosed  to  him  an 
extract  from  the  review  of  his  Dictionary  in  the  Bibliothique 
des  Savans,  and  a  list  of  subscribers  to  his  Shakspeare,  which 
Mr.  Burney  had  procured  in  Norfolk,  he  wrote  the  following 


'To  Mr.  Burnet,  in  Ltnne,  Norfolk, 

'Sir, — That  I  may  shew  myself  sensible  of  your  favours, 
and  not  commit  the  same  fault  a  second  time,  I  make  haste 
to  answer  the  letter  which  I  received  this  morning.  The 
truth  is,  the  other  likewise  was  received,  and  I  wrote  an 
answer;  but  being  desirous  to  transmit  you  some  proposals 
and  receipts,  I  waited  till  I  could  find  a  convenient  convey- 
ance, and  day  was  passed  after  day,  till  other  things  drove 
it  from  my  thoughts;  yet  not  so,  but  that  I  remember  with 
great  pleasure  your  commendation  of  my  Dictionary.  Your 
praise  was  welcome,  not  only  because  I  believe  it  was  sincere, 
but  because  prjiise  has  been  very  scarce.  A  man  of  your 
candour  will  be  surprised  when  I  tell  you,  that  among  all  my 
acquaintance  there  were  only  two,  who  up)on  the  publication 
of  my  book  did  not  endeavour  to  depress  me  with  threats  of 
censure  from  the  publick,  or  with  objections  learned  from 
those  who  had  learned  them  from  my  own  Preface.  Your'a 
is  the  only  letter  of  goodwill  that  I  have  received;  though, 
indeed,  I  am  promised  something  of  that  sort  from  Sweden. 

'How  my  new  edition  will  be  received  I  know  not;  the 
subscription  has  not  been  very  successful.  I  shall  publish 
about  March. 

'If  you  can  direct  me  how  to  send  proposals,  I  should 
wish  that  they  were  in  such  hands. 

'I  remember.  Sir,  in  some  of  the  first  letters  with  which 
you  favoured  me,  you  mentioned  your  lady.  May  I  enquire 
after  her?  In  return  for  the  favours  which  you  have  shewn 
me,  it  is  not  much  to  tell  you,  that  I  wish  you  and  her  all 


•78  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i768 

that  can  conduce  to  your  happiness.     I  am,  Sir,  your  most 
obliged,  and  most  humble  servant,  Sam.  Johnson.' 

'  Gough-square,  Dec.  24,  1757.' 

In  1758  we  find  him,  it  should  seem,  in  as  easy  and  pleas- 
ant a  state  of  existence,  as  constitutional  unhappiness  ever 
permitted  him  to  enjoy. 

'To  Bennet  Langton,  Esq.,  at  Langton,  Lincolnshire. 

'Dearest  Sir, — I  must  indeed  have  slept  very  fast,  not 
to  have  been  awakened  by  your  letter.  None  of  your  sus- 
picions are  true;  I  am  not  much  richer  than  when  you  left 
me;  and,  what  is  worse,  my  omission  of  an  answer  to  your 
first  letter,  will  prove  that  I  am  not  much  wiser.  But  I  go 
on  as  I  formerly  did,  designing  to  be  some  time  or  other  both 
rich  and  wise;  and  yet  cultivate  neither  mind  nor  fortune. 
Do  you  take  notice  of  my  example,  and  learn  the  danger  of 
delay.  When  I  was  as  you  are  now,  towering  in  the  con- 
fidence of  twenty-one,  little  did  I  suspect  that  I  should  be 
at  forty-nine,  what  I  now  am. 

'But  you  do  not  seem  to  need  my  admonition.  You  are 
busy  in  acquiring  and  in  communicating  knowledge,  and 
while  you  are  studying,  enjoy  the  end  of  study,  by  making 
others  wiser  and  happier.  I  was  much  pleased  with  the 
tale  that  you  told  me  of  being  tutour  to  your  sisters.  I,  who 
have  no  sisters  nor  brothers,  look  with  some  degree  of  inno- 
cent envy  on  those  who  may  be  said  to  be  born  to  friends; 
and  cannot  see,  without  wonder,  how  rarely  that  native 
union  is  afterwards  regarded.  It  sometimes,  indeed,  hapn 
p>ens,  that  some  supervenient  cause  of  discord  may  over- 
power this  original  amity;  but  it  seems  to  me  more  frequently 
thrown  away  with  levity,  or  lost  by  negligence,  than  de- 
stroyed by  injury  or  violence.  We  tell  the  ladies  that  good 
wives  make  good  husbands;  I  believe  it  is  a  more  certain 
position  that  good  brothers  make  good  sisters. 

'I  am  satisfied  with  your  stay  at  home,  as  Juvenal  with 
his  friend's  retirement  to  Cumae:  I  know  that  your  absence 
is  best,  though  it  be  not  best  for  me. 


1758]  LETTER  TO  BENNET  LANGTON  79 

'Quamvis  digressu  veteris  confiisus  amid, 
Lavdo  tamen  vacuis  quod  aedem  figere  Cumis 
Destinet,  atgue  unum  civem  donare  Sibyllae.' 

'  La/t^^ton  is  a  good  Cumae,  but  who  must  be  Sibylla  ?  Mrs. 
Langton  is  as  wise  as  Sibyl,  and  as  good;  and  will  live,  if 
my  wishes  can  prolong  life,  till  she  shall  in  time  be  as  old. 
But  she  differs  in  this,  that  she  has  not  scattered  her  pre- 
cepts in  the  wind,  at  least  not  those  which  she  bestowed 
upon  you. 

'The  two  Wartons  just  looked  into  the  town,  and  were 
taken  to  see  Cleone,  where,  David  ^  says,  they  were  starved 
for  want  of  company  to  keep  them  warm.  David  and 
Doddy^  have  had  a  new  quarrel,  and,  I  think,  cannot  conveni- 
ently quarrel  any  more.  Cleone  was  well  acted  by  all  the 
characters,  but  Bellamy  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  I  went 
the  first  night,  and  supported  it,  as  well  as  I  might;  for 
Doddy,  you  know,  is  my  patron,  and  I  would  not  desert  him. 
The  play  was  very  well  received.  Doddy,  after  the  danger 
was  over,  went  every  night  to  the  stage-side,  and  cried  at 
the  distress  of  poor  Cleone. 

'I  have  left  off  housekeeping,  and  therefore  made  presents 
of  the  game  which  you  were  pleased  to  send  me.  The 
pheasant  I  gave  to  !Mr.  Richardson,'  the  bustard  to  Dr. 
Lawrence,  and  the  pot  I  placed  with  Miss  Williams,  to  be 
eaten  by  myself.  She  desires  that  her  compUments  and 
good  wishes  may  be  accepted  by  the  family;  and  I  make  the 
same  request  for  myself. 

'  Mr.  Rejmolds  has  within  these  few  days  raised  his  price 
to  twenty  guineas  a  head,  and  Miss  is  much  employed  in 
miniatures.  I  know  not  any  body  [else]  whose  prosperity 
has  increased  since  you  left  them. 

'Murphy  is  to  have  his  Orphan  of  China  acted  next  month; 
and  is  therefore,  I  suppose,  happy.  I  wish  I  could  tell  you 
of  any  great  good  to  which  I  was  approaching,  but  at  present 
my  prospects  do  not  much  deUght  me;    however,  I  am 

>  Mr.  Garrick. — Boswell. 

*Mr.  Dodsley,  the  Authour  of  Cleone. — Boswell. 

» Mr.  Samuel  Richardson,  authour  of  Clarissa. — Boswell. 


80  ■  LIFE   OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [i758 

always  pleased  when  I  find  that  you,  dear  Sir,  remember, 
your  affectionate,  humble  servant,  Sam.  Johnson.' 

'Jan.  9,  1758.' 

Dr.  Bumey  has  kindly  favoured  me  with  the  following 
memorandum,  which  I  take  the  liberty  to  insert  in  his  own 
genuine  easy  style.  I  love  to  exhibit  sketches  of  my  illus- 
trious friend  by  various  eminent  hands. 

'Soon  after  this,  Mr.  Bumey,  during  a  visit  to  the  capital, 
had  an  interview  with  him  in  Gough-square,  where  he  dined 
and  drank  tea  with  him,  and  was  introduced  to  the  acquain- 
tance of  Mrs.  WilUams.  After  dinner,  Mr.  Johnson  proposed 
to  Mr.  Bumey  to  go  up  with  him  into  his  garret,  which  being 
accepted,  he  there  found  about  five  or  six  Greek  folios,  a 
deal  writing-desk,  and  a  chair  and  a  half.  Johnson  giving 
to  his  guest  the  entire  seat,  tottered  himself  on  one  with  only 
three  legs  and  one  arm.  Here  he  gave  Mr.  Bumey  Mrs. 
Williams's  history,  and  shewed  him  some  volumes  of  his 
Shakspeare  already  printed,  to  prove  that  he  was  in  earnest. 
Upon  Mr.  Bumey's  opening  the  first  volume,  at  the  Merchant 
of  Venice,  he  observed  to  him,  that  he  seemed  to  be  more 
severe  on  Warburton  than  Theobald.  "0  poor  Tib.!  (said 
Johnson)  he  was  ready  knocked  down  to  my  hands;  War- 
burton  stands  between  me  and  him."  "But,  Sir,  (said  Mr. 
Burney,)  you'll  have  Warburton  upon  your  bones,  won't 
you?"  "No,  Sir;  he'll  not  come  out:  he'll  only  growl  in 
his  den."  "But  you  think.  Sir,  that  Warburton  is  a  supe- 
riour  critick  to  Theobald?"  "0,  Sir,  he'd  make  two-and- 
fifty  Theobalds,  cut  into  slices!  The  worst  of  Warburton 
is,  that  he  has  a  rage  for  saying  something,  when  there's 
nothing  to  be  said."  Mr.  Burney  then  asked  him  whether 
he  had  seen  the  letter  which  Warburton  had  written  in 
answer  to  a  pamphlet  addressed  "To  the  most  impudent 
Man  alive."  He  answered  in  the  negative.  Mr.  Burney 
told  him  it  was  supposed  to  be  written  by  Mallet.  The  con- 
troversey  now  raged  between  the  friends  of  Pope  and  Boling- 
broke;  and  Warburton  and  Mallet  were  the  leaders  of  the 
several  parties.  Mr.  Burney  asked  him  then  if  he  had  seen 
Warburton's  book  against  Bolingbroke's  Philosophy?     "No, 


17581  THE  IDLER  AND  RASSELAS  81 

Sir,  I  have  never  read  Bolingbroke's  impiety,  and  therefore 
am  not  interested  about  its  confutation.'" 

On  the  fifteenth  of  April  he  began  a  new  p)eriodical  paper ^^ 
entitled  The  Idler,  which  came  out  every  Saturday  in  a 
weekly  news-paper,  called  The  Universal  Chronicle,  or  Weekly 
Gazette,  published  by  Newbery.  These  essays  were  continued 
lill  April  5,  1760.  Of  one  hundred  and  three,  their  total 
number,  twelve  were  contributed  by  his  friends. 

The  Idler  is  evidently  the  work  of  the  same  mind  which, 
produced  The  Rambler,  but  has  less  body  and  more  spirit. 
It  has  more  variety  of  real  life,  and  greater  facility  of  lan- 
guage. He  describes  the  miseries  of  idleness,  with  the  lively 
sensations  of  one  who  has  felt  them;  and  in  his  private 
memorandums  while  engaged  in  it,  we  find  '  This  year  I  hope 
to  learn  diligence.'  Many  of  these  excellent  essays  were 
written  as  hastily  as  an  ordinary  letter.  Mr.  Langton  re- 
members Johnson,  when  on  a  visit  at  Oxford,  asking  him  one 
evening  how  long  it  was  till  the  post  went  out;  and  on  being 
told  about  half  an  hour,  he  exclaimed,  'then  we  shall  do 
very  well.'  He  upon  this  instantly  sat  down  and  finished 
an  Idler,  which  it  was  necessary  should  be  in  London  the 
next  day.  Mr.  Langton  having  signified  a  wish  to  read  it^ 
'Sir,  (said  he)  you  shall  not  do  more  than  I  have  done  myself^ 
He  then  folded  it  up  and  sent  it  off. 

1759:  iETAT.  50.] — In  1759,  in  the  month  of  January,  his 
mother  died  at  the  great  age  of  ninety,  an  event  which  deeply 
affected  him;  not  that  'his  mind  had  acquired  no  firmness- 
by  the  contemplation  of  mortality;'  but  that  his  reverential 
affection  for  her  was  not  abated  by  years,  as  indeed  he  re- 
tained all  his  tender  feelings  even  to  the  latest  period  of  his 
life.  I  have  been  told  that  he  regretted  much  his  not  having 
gone  to  visit  his  mother  for  several  years,  previous  to  her 
death.  But  he  was  constantly  engaged  in  literary  labours 
which  confined  him  to  London;  and  though  he  had  not  the 
comfort  of  seeing  his  aged  parent,  he  contributed  liberally  to 
her  support. 

Soon  after  this  event,  he  wrote  his  Rasselas,  Prince  of 
Abyssinia;  concerning  the  publication  of  which  Sir  John 
Hawkins  guesses  vaguely  and  idly,  instead  of  having  taken 


S2  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1759 

the  trouble  to  inform  himself  with  authentick  precision.  Not 
to  trouble  my  readers  with  a  repetition  of  the  Knight's 
reveries,  I  have  to  mention,  that  the  late  Mr.  Strahan  the 
printer  told  me,  that  Johnson  wrote  it,  that  with  the  profits 
he  might  defray  the  expence  of  his  mother's  funeral,  and  pay 
some  little  debts  which  she  had  left.  He  told  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  that  he  composed  it  in  the  evenings  of  one  week,' 
sent  it  to  the  press  in  portions  as  it  was  written,  and  had 
never  since  read  it  over.  Mr.  Strahan,  Mr.  Johnston,  and 
Mr.  Dodsley  purchased  it  for  a  hundred  pounds,  but  after- 
wards paid  him  twenty-five  pounds  more,  when  it  came  to  a 
second  edition. 

Voltaire's  Candide,  written  to  refute  the  system  of  Opti- 
mism, which  it  has  accomplished  with  brilliant  success,  is 
wonderfully  similar  in  its  plan  and  conduct  to  Johnson's 
Rasselas;  insomuch,  that  I  have  heard  Johnson  say,  that  if 
they  had  not  been  published  so  closely  one  after  the  other 
that  there  was  not  time  for  imitation,  it  would  have  been  in 
vain  to  deny  that  the  scheme  of  that  which  came  latest  was 
taken  from  the  other.  Though  the  proposition  illustrated 
by  both  these  works  was  the  same,  namely,  that  in  our  pres- 
ent state  there  is  more  evil  than  good,  the  intention  of  the 
writers  was  very  different.  Voltaire,  I  am  afraid,  meant 
only  by  wanton  profaneness  to  obtain  a  sportive  victory  over 
religion,  and  to  discredit  the  belief  of  a  superintending 
Providence:  Johnson  meant,  by  shewing  the  unsatisfactory 
nature  of  things  temporal,  to  direct  the  hopes  of  man  to 
things  eternal.  Rasselas,  as  was  observed  to  me  by  a  very 
accomplished  lady,  may  be  considered  as  a  more  enlarged 
and  more  deeply  philosophical  discourse  in  prose,  upon  the 
interesting  truth,  which  in  his  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes  he 
had  so  successfully  enforced  in  verse. 

I  would  ascribe  to  this  year  the  following  letter  to  a  son 
of  one  of  his  early  friends  at  Lichfield,  Mr.  Joseph  Simpson, 
Barrister,  and  authour  of  a  tract  entitled  Reflections  on  the 
Study  of  the  Law. 


17591  EXCURSION  TO  OXFORD  83 


'To  Joseph  Simpson,  Esq. 

'Dear  Sir, — Your  father's  inexorability  not  only  grieves 
but  amazes  me:  he  is  your  father;  he  was  always  accounted 
a  wise  man;  nor  do  I  remember  any  thing  to  the  disadvan- 
tage of  his  good-nature ;  but  in  his  refusal  to  assist  you  there 
is  neither  good-nature,  fatherhood,  nor  wisdom.  It  is  the 
practice  of  good-nature  to  overlook  faults  which  have  al- 
ready, by  the  consequences,  punished  the  delinquent.  It 
is  natural  for  a  father  to  think  more  favourably  than  others 
of  his  children;  and  it  Ls  always  wise  to  give  assistance  while 
a  little  help  will  prevent  the  necessity  of  greater. 

'  If  you  married  imprudently,  you  miscarried  at  your  own 
hazard,  at  an  age  when  you  had  a  right  of  choice.  It  would 
be  hard  if  the  man  might  not  choose  his  own  wife,  who  has 
a  right  to  plead  before  the  Judges  of  his  country. 

'If  your  imprudence  has  ended  in  difficulties  and  incon- 
veniences, you  are  yourself  to  support  them;  and,  with  the 
help  of  a  little  better  health,  you  would  support  them  and 
conquer  them.  Surely,  that  want  which  accident  and  sick- 
ness produces,  is  to  be  supported  in  every  region  of  humanity, 
though  there  were  neither  friends  nor  fathers  in  the  world.' 
You  have  certainly  from  your  father  the  highest  claim  of 
charity,  though  none  of  right;  and  therefore  I  would  counsel 
you  to  omit  no  decent  nor  manly  degree  of  importunity. 
Your  debts  in  the  whole  are  not  large,  and  of  the  whole  but 
a  small  part  is  troublesome.  Small  debts  are  like  small 
shot;  they  are  rattling  on  every  side,  and  can  scarcely  be 
escaped  without  a  wound:  great  debts  are  like  cannon;  of 
loud  noise,  but  little  danger.  You  must,  therefore,  be  en- 
abled to  discharge  petty  debts,  that  you  may  have  leisure, 
with  security  to  struggle  with  the  rest.  Neither  the  great 
nor  little  debts  disgrace  you.  I  am  sure  you  have  my  esteein 
for  the  courage  with  which  you  contracted  them,  and  the 
spirit  with  which  you  endure  them.  I  wish  my  esteem  could 
be  of  more  use.  I  have  been  invited,  or  have  invited  myself, 
to  several  parts  of  the  kingdom;  and  will  not  incommode 
my  dear  Lucy  by  coming  to  Lichfield,  while  her  present' 


84  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i76» 

lodging  is  of  any  use  to  her.  I  hope,  in  a  few  days,  to  be  at 
leisure,  and  to  make  visits.  Whither  I  shall  fly  is  matter  of 
no  importance.  A  man  unconnected  is  at  home  every  where; 
unless  he  may  be  said  to  be  at  home  no  where.  I  am  sorry, 
dear  Sir,  that  where  you  have  parents,  a  man  of  your  merits 
should  not  have  an  home,  I  wish  I  could  give  it  you.  I  am, 
my  dear  Sir,  affectionately  yours,  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

He  now  refreshed  himself  by  an  excursion  to  Oxford,  of 
which  the  following  short  characteristical  notice,  in  his  own 
words,  is  preserved: — 

'  *  *  *  is  now  making  tea  for  me.  I  have  been  in  my  gown 
ever  since  I  came  here.  It  was,  at  my  first  coming,  quite 
new  and  handsome.  I  have  swum  thrice,  which  I  had  dis- 
used for  many  years.  I  have  proposed  to  Vansittart,  climb- 
ing over  the  wall,  but  he  has  refused  me.  And  I  have 
clapped  my  hands  till  they  are  sore,  at  Dr.  King's  speech.' 

His  negro  servant,  Francis  Barber,  having  left  him,  and 
been  some  time  at  sea,  not  pressed  as  has  been  supposed, 
but  with  his  own  consent,  it  appears  from  a  letter  to  John 
Wilkes,  Esq.,  from  Dr.  SmoUet,  that  his  master  kindly  in- 
terested himself  in  procuring  his  release  from  a  state  of  life 
of  which  Johnson  always  expressed  the  utmost  abhorrence. 
He  said, '  No  man  will  be  a  sailor  who  has  contrivance  enough 
to  get  himself  into  a  jail;  for  being  in  a  ship  is  being  in  a 
jail,  with  the  chance  of  being  drowned.'  And  at  another 
time,  'A  man  in  a  jaU  has  more  room,  better  food,  and  com- 
monly better  company.'     The  letter  was  as  follows: — 

'Chelsea,  March  16,  1759. 
'Dear  Sir,  I  am  again  your  petitioner,  in  behalf  of  that 
great  Cham  of  literature,  Samuel  Johnson.  His  black  ser- 
vant, whose  name  is  Francis  Barber,  has  been  pressed  on 
board  the  Stag  Frigate,  Captain  Angel,  and  our  lexicographer 
is  in  great  distress.  He  says  the  boy  is  a  sickly  lad,  of  a 
delicate  frame,  and  particularly  subject  to  a  malady  in  his 
throat,  which  renders  him  very  unfit  for  his  Majesty's  ser- 
vice. You  know  what  manner  of  animosity  the  said  Johnson 
has  against  you;  and  I  dare  say  you  desire  no  other  oppor- 


1760]  ARTHUR  MURPHY  85 

tunity  of  resenting  it  than  that  of  laying  him  under  an  obliga- 
tion. He  was  humble  enough  to  desire  my  assistance  on 
this  occasion,  though  he  and  I  were  never  cater-cousins;  and 
I  gave  him  to  understand  that  I  would  make  application  to 
my  friend  Mr.  Wilkes,  who,  perhaps,  by  his  interest  with 
Dr.  Hay  and  Mr.  Elliot,  might  be  able  to  procure  the  dis- 
charge of  his  lacquey.  It  would  be  su|)erfluous  to  say  more 
on  the  subject,  which  I  leave  to  your  own  consideration; 
but  I  cannot  let  slip  this  opportunity  of  declaring  that  I 
am,  with  the  most  inviolable  esteem  and  attachment,  dear 
Sir,  your  afifectionate,  obliged,  humble  servant, 

'T.  Smollet.' 

Mr.  Wilkes,  who  upon  all  occasions  has  acted,  as  a  private 
gentleman,  with  most  polite  liberality,  applied  to  his  friend 
Sir  George  Hay,  then  one  of  the  Lords  Commissioners  of  the 
Admiralty;  and  Francis  Barber  was  discharged,  as  he  has 
told  me,  without  any  wish  of  his  own.  He  found  his  old 
master  in  Chambers  in  the  Inner  Temple,  and  returned  to 
his  service. 

1760:  AETAT.  51.] — I  TAKE  this  opportunity  to  relate  the 
manner  in  which  an  acquaintance  first  commenced  between 
Dr.  Johason  and  Mr.  Murphy.  During  the  publication  of 
The  Gray's-Inn  Journal,  a  periodical  paper  which  was  suc- 
cessfully carried  on  by  Mr.  Murphy  alone,  when  a  very  young 
man,  he  happened  to  be  in  the  country  with  Mr.  Foote;  and 
having  mentioned  that  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  London  in 
order  to  get  ready  for  the  press  one  of  the  numbers  of  that 
Journal,  Foote  said  to  him, '  You  need  not  go  on  that  account. 
Here  is  a  French  magazine,  in  which  you  will  find  a  very 
pretty  oriental  tale;  translate  that,  and  send  it  to  your 
printer.'  Mr.  Murphy  having  read  the  tale,  was  highly 
pleased  with  it,  and  followed  Foote's  advice.  When  he  re- 
turned to  town,  this  tale  was  pointed  out  to  him  in  The 
Rambler,  from  whence  it  had  been  translated  into  the  French 
magazine.  Mr.  Murphy  then  waited  upon  Johnson,  to  ex- 
plain this  curious  incident.  His  talents,  literature,  and  gen- 
tleman-like manners,  were  soon  perceived  by  Johnson,  and  a 
friendship  was  formed  which  was  never  broken. 


86  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i762 

1762:  MTAT.  53.] — A  lady  having  at  this  time  solicited 
him  to  obtain  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury's  patronage  to 
have  her  son  sent  to  the  University,  one  of  those  soHcitations 
which  are  too  frequent,  where  people,  anxious  for  a  particular 
object,  do  not  consider  propriety,  or  the  opportunity  which 
the  persons  whom  they  solicit  have  to  assist  them,  he  wrote 
to  her  the  following  answer,  with  a  copy  of  which  I  am  fa- 
voured by  the  Reverend  Dr.  Farmer,  Master  of  Emanuel 
College,  Cambridge. 

'Madam, — I  hope  you  will  believe  that  my  delay  in  an- 
swering your  letter  could  proceed  only  from  my  unwilling- 
ness to  destroy  any  hope  that  you  had  formed.  Hope  is 
itself  a  species  of  happiness,  and,  perhaps,  the  chief  happiness 
which  this  world  affords:  but,  like  all  other  pleasures  im- 
moderately enjoyed,  the  excesses  of  hope  must  be  expiated 
by  pain;  and  expectations  improperly  indulged,  must  end 
in  disappointment.  If  it  be  asked,  what  is  the  improper  ex- 
pectation which  it  is  dangerous  to  indulge,  exjjerience  will 
quickly  answer,  that  it  is  such  expectation  as  is  dictated  not 
by  reason,  but  by  desire;  expectation  raised,  not  by  the  com- 
mon occurrences  of  life,  but  by  the  wants  of  the  expectant; 
an  expectation  that  requires  the  common  course  of  things 
to  be  changed,  and  the  general  rules  of  action  to  be  broken. 

'When  you  made  your  request  to  me,  you  should  have 
considered,  Madam,  what  you  were  asking.  You  ask  me  to 
solicit  a  great  man,  to  whom  I  never  spoke,  for  a  young 
person  whom  I  had  never  seen,  upon  a  supposition  which 
I  had  no  means  of  knowing  to  be  true.  There  is  no  reason 
why,  amongst  all  the  great,  I  should  chuse  to  supplicate  the 
Archbishop,  nor  why,  among  all  the  possible  objects  of  his 
bounty,  the  Archbishop  should  chuse  your  son.  I  know, 
Madam,  how  unwillingly  conviction  is  admitted,  when  in- 
terest opposes  it;  but  surely.  Madam,  you  must  allow,  that 
there  is  no  reason  why  that  should  be  done  by  me,  which 
every  other  man  may  do  with  equal  reason,  and  which, 
indeed  no  man  can  do  properly,  without  some  very  particu- 
lar relation  both  to  the  Archbishop  and  to  you.  If  I  could 
help  you  in  this  exigence  by  any  proper  means,  it  would 


1762]  LETTER  TO  BARETTI  87 

give  me  pleasure;  but  this  proposal  is  so  very  remote  from 
all  usual  methods,  that  I  cannot  comply  with  it,  but  at  the 
risk  of  such  answer  and  suspicions  as  I  believe  you  do  not 
wish  me  to  undergo. 

'I  have  seen  your  son  this  morning;  he  seems  a  pretty 
youth,  and  will,  j)erhaps,  find  some  better  friend  than  I  can 
procure  him;  but,  though  he  should  at  last  miss  the  Uni- 
versity, he  may  still  be  wise,  useful,  and  happy.  I  am, 
Madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'Junes,  1762.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

'To  Mr.  Joseph  Baretti,  at  Milan. 

'London,  July  20,  1762. 

'Sir,  However  justly  you  may  accuse  me  for  want  of 
punctuality  in  correspondence,  I  am  not  so  far  lost  in  negli- 
gence as  to  omit  the  opportunity  of  writing  to  you,  which 
Mr.  Beauclerk's  passage  through  Milan  affords  me. 

'I  suppose  you  received  the  Idlers,  and  I  intend  that  you 
shall  soon  receive  Shakspeare,  that  you  may  explain  his 
works  to  the  ladies  of  Italy,  and  tell  them  the  story  of  the 
editor,  among  the  other  strange  narratives  with  which  your 
long  residence  in  this  unknown  region  has  supplied  you. 

'As  you  have  now  been  long  away,  I  suppose  your  curi- 
osity may  pant  for  some  news  of  your  old  friends.  Miss- 
WiUiams  and  I  live  much  as  we  did.  Miss  Cotterel  still 
continues  to  cling  to  Mrs.  Porter,  and  Charlotte  is  now  big 
of  the  fourth  child.  Mr.  Reynolds  gets  six  thousands  a  year. 
Levet  is  lately  married,  not  without  much  suspicion  that  he 
has  been  wretchedly  cheated  in  his  match.  Mr.  Chambers 
is  gone  this  day,  for  the  first  time,  the  circuit  with  the  Judges. 
Mr.  Richardson  is  dead  of  an  apoplexy,  and  his  second 
daughter  has  married  a  merchant. 

'  My  vanity,  or  my  kindness,  makes  me  flatter  myself,  that 
you  would  rather  hear  of  me  than  of  those  whom  I  have 
mentioned;  but  of  myself  I  have  very  little  which  I  care  to 
tell.  Last  winter  I  went  down  to  my  native  town,  where  I 
found  the  streets  much  narrower  and  shorter  than  I  thought 
I  had  left  them,  inhabited  by  a  new  race  of  people,  to  whom. 


88  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i762 

I  was  very  little  known.  My  play-fellows  were  grown  old, 
and  forced  me  to  suspect  that  I  was  no  longer  young.  My 
only  remaining  friend  has  changed  his  principles,  and  was 
become  the  tool  of  the  predominant  faction.  My  daughter- 
in-law,  from  whom  I  expected  most,  and  whom  I  met  with 
sincere  benevolence,  has  lost  the  beauty  and  gaiety  of  youth, 
without  having  gained  much  of  the  wisdom  of  age.  I  wan- 
dered about  for  five  days,  and  took  the  first  convenient  oppor- 
tunity of  returning  to  a  place,  where,  if  there  is  not  much 
happiness,  there  is,  at  least,  such  a  diversity  of  good  and  evil, 
that  slight  vexations  do  not  fix  upon  the  heart.  .  .  . 

'May  you,  my  Baretti,  be  very  happy  at  Milan,  or  some 
other  place  nearer  to.  Sir,  your  most  affectionate  humble 
servant,  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

The  accession  of  George  the  Third  to  the  throne  of  these 
kingdoms,  opened  a  new  and  brighter  prospect  to  men  of 
literary  merit,  who  had  been  honoured  with  no  mark  of  royal 
favour  in  the  preceding  reign.  His  present  Majesty's  educa- 
tion in  this  country,  as  well  as  his  taste  and  beneficence, 
prompted  him  to  be  the  patron  of  science  and  the  arts;  and 
early  this  year  Johnson,  having  been  represented  to  him  aS 
a  very  learned  and  good  man,  without  any  certain  provision, 
his  Majesty  was  pleased  to  grant  him  a  pension  of  three  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year.  The  Earl  of  Bute,  who  was  then  Prime 
Minister,  had  the  honour  to  announce  this  instance  of  his 
Sovereign's  bounty,  concerning  which,  many  and  various 
stories,  all  equally  erroneous,  have  been  propagated:  mali- 
ciously representing  it  as  a  political  bribe  to  Johnson,  to 
desert  his  avowed  principles,  and  become  the  tool  of  a  gov- 
ernment which  he  held  to  be  founded  in  usurpation.  I  have 
taken  care  to  have  it  in  my  power  to  refute  them  from  the 
most  authentick  information.  Lord  Bute  told  me,  that  Mr. 
Wedderburne,  now  Lord  Loughborough,  was  the  person  who 
iirst  mentioned  this  subject  to  him.  Lord  Loughborough 
told  me,  that  the  pension  was  granted  to  Johnson  solely  as 
the  reward  of  his  literary  merit,  without  any  stipulation 
whatever,  or  even  tacit  understanding  that  he  should  write 
for  administration.    His  Lordship  added,  that  he  was  con- 


17621  JOHNSON'S  PENSION  8» 

fident  the  political  tracts  which  Johnson  afterwards  did  write^ 
as  they  were  entirely  consonant  with  his  own  opinions, 
would  have  been  written  by  him  though  no  pension  had  been 
granted  to  him. 

Mr.  Thomas  Sheridan  and  Mr.  Murphy,  who  then  lived 
a  good  deal  both  with  him  and  Mr.  Wedderburne,  told  me, 
that  they  previously  talked  with  Johnson  upon  this  matter, 
and  that  it  was  perfectly  understood  by  all  parties  that  the 
pension  was  merely  honorary.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  told 
me,  that  Johnson  called  on  him  after  his  Majesty!s  intention 
had  been  notified  to  him,  and  said  he  wished  to  consult  his 
friends  as  to  the  propriety  of  his  accepting  this  mark  of  the 
royal  favour,  after  the  definitions  which  he  had  given  in  his^ 
Dictionary  of  'pension  and  petisioners.  He  said  he  would  not 
have  Sir  Joshua's  answer  till  next  day,  when  he  would  call 
again,  and  desired  he  might  think  of  it.  Sir  Joshua  an- 
swered that  he  was  clear  to  give  his  opinion  then,  that  there 
could  be  no  objection  to  his  receiving  from  the  King  a  re- 
ward for  literary  merit;  and  that  certainly  the  definitions  in 
his  Dictionary  were  not  applicable  to  him.  Johnson,  it 
should  seem,  was  satisfied,  for  he  did  not  call  again  till  he 
had  accepted  the  pension,  and  had  waited  on  Lord  Bute  to 
thank  him.  He  then  told  Sir  Joshua  that  Lord  Bute  said  to 
him  expressly,  'It  is  not  given  you  for  anything  you  are  to 
do,  but  for  what  you  have  done.'  His  Lordship,  he  said, 
behaved  in  the  handsomest  manner.  He  repeated  the  words 
twice,  that  he  might  be  sure  Johnson  heard  them,  and  thus 
set  his  mind  perfectly  at  ease.  This  nobleman,  who  has  been 
so  virulently  abused,  acted  with  great  honour  in  this  instance, 
and  displayed  a  mind  truly  liberal.  A  minister  of  a  more 
narrow  and  selfish  disposition  would  have  availed  himself 
of  such  an  opportunity  to  fix  an  implied  obligation  on  a  man 
of  Johnson's  powerful  talents  to  give  him  his  support. 

Mr.  Murphy  and  the  late  Mr.  Sheridan  severally  contended 
for  the  distinction  of  having  been  the  first  who  mentioned  to 
Mr.  Wedderburne  that  Johnson  ought  to  have  a  pension. 
When  I  spoke  of  this  to  Lord  Loughborough,  wishing  to 
know  if  he  recollected  the  prime  mover  in  the  business,  he 
said,  'AH  his  friends  assisted:'  and  when  I  told  him  that 


90  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1762 

Mr.  Sheridan  strenuously  asserted  his  claim  to  it,  his  Lord- 
ship said,  'He  rang  the  bell.'  And  it  is  but  just  to  add,  that 
Mr.  Sheridan  told  me,  that  when  he  communicated  to  Dr. 
Johnson  that  a  pension  was  to  be  granted  him,  he  replied  in 
a  fervour  of  gratitude,  '  The  English  language  does  not  afford 
me  terms  adequate  to  my  feelings  on  this  occasion.  I  must 
have  recourse  to  the  French.  I  am  penetre  with  his  Majesty's 
goodness.'  When  I  repeated  this  to  Dr.  Johnson,  he  did  not 
contradict  it. 

This  year  his  friend  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  paid  a  visit  of 
some  weeks  to  his  native  country,  Devonshire,  in  which  he 
was  accompanied  by  Johnson,  who  was  much  pleased  with 
this  jaunt,  and  declared  he  had  derived  from  it  a  great  ac- 
cession of  new  ideas.  He  was  entertained  at  the  seats  of 
several  noblemen  and  gentlemen  in  the  West  of  England; 
but  the  greatest  part  of  the  time  was  passed  at  Plymouth, 
where  the  magnificence  of  the  nav>%  the  ship-building  and 
all  its  circumstances,  afforded  him  a  grand  subject  of  con- 
templation. The  Commissioner  of  the  Dock-yard  paid  him 
the  compliment  of  ordering  the  yacht  to  convey  him  and  his 
friend  to  the  Eddystone,  to  which  they  accordingly  sailed. 
But  the  weather  was  so  tempestuous  that  they  could  not 
land. 

Reynolds  and  he  were  at  this  time  the  guests  of  Dr.  Mudge, 
the  celebrated  surgeon,  and  now  physician  of  that  place,  not 
more  distinguished  for  quickness  of  parts  and  variety  of 
knowledge,  than  loved  and  esteemed  for  his  amiable  manners; 
and  here  Johnson  formed  an  acquaintance  with  Dr.  Mudge's 
father,  that  very  eminent  divine,  the  Reverend  Zachariah 
Mudge,  Prebendary  of  Exeter,  who  was  idolised  in  the  west, 
both  for  his  excellence  as  a  preacher  and  the  uniform  ipev- 
fect  propriety  of  his  private  conduct.  He  preached  a  ser- 
mon purposely  that  Johnson  might  hear  him;  and  we  shall 
see  afterwards  that  Johnson  honoured  his  memory  by  draw- 
ing his  character.  While  Johnson  was  at  Plymouth,  he  saw 
a  great  many  of  its  inhabitants,  and  was  not  sparing  of  his 
very  entertaining  conversation.  It  was  here  that  he  made 
that  frank  and  truly  original  confession,  that  'ignorance, 
pure  ignorance,'  was  the  cause  of  a  wrong  definition  in  his 


17621  JOHNSON  AT  PLYMOUTH  Vi 

Dictionary  of  the  word  pastern,  to  the  no  small  surprise  of 
the  Lady  who  put  the  question  to  him;  who  having  the 
most  profound  reverence  for  his  character,  so  as  almost  to 
suppose  him  endowed  with  infallibility,  expected  to  hear  an 
explanation  (of  what,  to  be  sure,  seemed  strange  to  a  com- 
mon reader,)  drawn  from  some  deepv-learned  source  with 
which  she  was  unacquainted. 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  to  whom  I  was  obliged  for  my  in- 
formation concerning  this  excursion,  mentions  a  very  char- 
acteristical  anecdote  of  Johnson  while  at  Plymouth.  Having 
observed  that  in  consequence  of  the  Dock-yard  a  new  town 
had  arisen  about  two  miles  off  as  a  rival  to  the  old;  and 
knowing  from  his  sagacity,  and  just  observation  of  human 
nature,  that  it  is  certain  if  a  man  hates  at  all,  he  will  hate  his 
next  neighbour;  he  concluded  that  this  new  and  rising  town 
could  not  but  excite  the  envy  and  jealousy  of  the  old,  in  which 
conjecture  he  was  very  soon  confirmed;  he  therefore  set 
himself  resolutely  on  the  side  of  the  oid  town,  the  established 
town,  in  which  his  lot  was  cast,  considering  it  as  a  kind  of 
duty  to  stand  by  it.  He  accordingly  entered  warmly  into 
its  interests,  and  upon  every  occasion  talked  of  the  dockers, 
as  the  inhabitants  of  the  new  town  were  called,  as  upstarts 
and  aliens.  Plj'mouth  is  very  plentifully  supplied  with 
water  by  a  river  brought  into  it  from  a  great  distance,  which 
is  so  abundant  that  it  runs  to  waste  in  the  town.  The 
Dock,  or  New-town,  being  totally  destitute  of  water,  f)eti- 
tioned  Pljinouth  that  a  small  portion  of  the  conduit  might 
be  permitted  to  go  to  them,  and  this  was  now  under  con- 
sideration. Johnson,  affecting  to  entertain  the  passions  of 
the  place,  was  violent  in  opposition;  and,  half-laughing  at 
himself  for  his  pretended  zeal  where  he  had  no  concern, 
exclaimed,  'No,  no !  I  am  against  the  dockers;  I  am  a  Plym- 
outh man.  Rogues !  let  them  die  of  thirst.  They  shall  not 
have  a  drop ! ' 

1763:  .ETAT.  54.] — This  is  to  me  a  memorable  year;  for 
in  it  I  had  the  happiness  to  obtain  the  acquaintance  of  that 
extraordinary  man  who.se  memoirs  I  am  now  writing;  an 
acquaintance  which  I  shall  ever  esteem  as  one  of  the  most 
fortunate  circumstances  in  my  life.    Though  then  but  two- 


92  LIFE   OF   DR.  JOHNSON  [i76a 

and-twenty,  I  had  for  several  years  read  his  works  with  delight 
and  instruction,  and  had  the  highest  reverence  for  their 
authour,  which  had  grown  up  in  my  fancy  into  a  kind  of 
mysterious  veneration,  by  figuring  to  myself  a  state  of  solemn 
elevated  abstraction,  in  which  I  supposed  him  to  live  in  the 
immense  metropolis  of  London.  Mr.  Gentleman,  a  native 
of  Ireland,  who  passed  some  years  in  Scotland  as  a  player, 
and  as  an  instructor  in  the  English  language,  a  man  whose 
talents  and  worth  were  depressed  by  misfortunes,  had  given 
me  a  representation  of  the  figure  and  manner  of  Dictionary 
Johnson!  as  he  was  then  generally  called;  and  during  my 
first  visit  to  London,  which  was  for  three  months  in  1760,^ 
Mr.  Derrick  the  poet,  who  was  Gentleman's  friend  and  coun- 
tryman, flattered  me  with  hopes  that  he  would  introduce 
me  to  Johnson,  an  honour  of  which  I  was  very  ambitious. 
But  he  never  found  an  opportunity;  which  made  me  doubt 
that  he  had  promised  to  do  what  was  not  in  his  power;  till 
Johnson  some  years  afterwards  told  me,  '  Derrick,  Sir,  might 
very  well  have  introduced  you.  I  had  a  kindness  for  Der- 
rick, and  am  sorry  he  is  dead.' 

In  the  summer  of  1761  Mr.  Thomas  Sheridan  was  at  Edin- 
burgh, and  delivered  lectures  upon  the  English  Language 
and  Publick  Speaking  to  large  and  respectable  audiences. 
I  was  often  in  his  company,  and  heard  him  frequently  ex- 
patiate upon  Johnson's  extraordinary  knowledge,  talents,^ 
and  virtues,  repeat  his  pointed  sayings,  describe  his  particu- 
larities, and  boast  of  his  being  his  guest  sometimes  till  two 
or  three  in  the  morning.  At  his  house  I  hoped  to  have  many 
opportunities  of  seeing  the  sage,  as  Mr.  Sheridan  obligingly 
assured  me  I  should  not  be  disappointed. 

When  I  returned  to  London  in  the  end  of  1762,  to  my  sur- 
prise and  regret  I  found  an  irreconcileable  difference  had 
taken  place  between  Johnson  and  Sheridan.  A  pension  of 
two  hundred  pounds  a  year  had  been  given  to  Sheridan. 
Johnson,  who,  as  has  been  already  mentioned,  thought 
slightingly  of  Sheridan's  art,  upon  hearing  that  he  was  also 
pensioned,  exclaimed,  'What!  have  they  given  him  a  pen- 
sion?   Then  it  is  time  for  me  to  give  up  mine.' 

Johnson  complained  that  a  man  who  disliked  him  re- 


1763]  QUARREL  WITH  SHEHIDAN  93 

peated  his  sarcasm  to  Mr.  Sheridan,  without  telling  him  what 
followed,  which  was,  that  after  a  pause  he  added,  '  However, 
I  am  glad  that  Mr.  Sheridan  has  a  pension,  for  he  is  a  very 
good  man.'  Sheridan  could  never  forgive  this  hasty  con' 
temptuous  expression.  It  rankled  in  his  mind;  and  though 
I  informed  him  of  all  that  Johnson  said,  and  that  he  would 
be  very  glad  to  meet  him  amicably,  he  positively  declined 
repeated  offers  which  I  made,  and  once  went  off  abruptly 
from  a  house  where  he  and  I  were  engaged  to  dine,  because 
he  was  told  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  to  be  there.' 

This  rupture  with  Sheridan  deprived  Johnson  of  one  of 
his  most  agreeable  resources  for  amusement  in  his  lonely 
evenings;  for  Sheridan's  well-informed,  animated,  and  bus- 
tling mind  never  suffered  conversation  to  stagnate;  and  Mrs. 
Sheridan  was  a  most  agreeable  companion  to  an  intellectual 
man.  She  was  sensible,  ingenious,  unassuming,  yet  com- 
municative. I  recollect,  with  satisfaction,  many  pleasing 
hours  which  I  passed  with  her  under  the  hospitable  roof  of 
her  husband,  who  was  to  me  a  very  kind  friend.  Her  novel, 
entitled  Memoirs  of  Miss  Sydney  Biddvlph,  contains  an  ex- 
cellent moral  while  it  inculcates  a  future  state  of  retribution ; 
and  what  it  teaches  is  impressed  upon  the  mind  by  a  series 
of  as  deep  distress  as  can  affect  humanity,  in  the  amiable  and 
pious  heroine  who  goes  to  her  grave  unrelieved,  but  resigned, 
and  full  of  hope  of  'heaven's  mercy.'  Johnson  paid  her  this 
high  compliment  upon  it:  'I  know  not.  Madam,  that  you. 
have  a  right,  upon  moral  principles,  to  make  your  readers, 
suffer  so  much.' 

Mr.  Thomas  Davies  the  actor,  who  then  kept  a  book- 
seller's shop  in  Russel-street,  Co  vent-garden,  told  me  that 
Johnson  was  very  much  his  friend,  and  came  frequently  to 
his  house,  where  he  more  than  once  invited  me  to  meet  him; 
but  by  some  unlucky  accident  or  other  he  was  prevented 
from  coming  to  us. 

Mr.  Thomas  Davies  was  a  man  of  good  understanding  and 

talents,  with  the  advantage  of  a  liberal  education.     Though 

somewhat  pompous,  he  was  an  entertaining  companion;  and 

his  literary  performances  have  no  inconsiderable  share  of 

>8ee  below,  p.  534. — Ed. 


94  LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [i763 

merit.  He  was  a  friendly  and  very  hospitable  man.  Both 
he  and  his  wife,  (who  has  been  celebrated  for  her  beauty,) 
though  upon  the  stage  for  many  years,  maintained  an  uni- 
form decency  of  character;  and  Johnson  esteemed  them, 
and  lived  in  as  easy  an  intimacy  with  them,  as  with  any 
family  which  he  used  to  visit.  Mr.  Davies  recollected  sev- 
eral of  Johnson's  remarkable  sayings,  and  was  one  of  the 
best  of  the  many  imitators  of  his  voice  and  manner,  while 
relating  them.  He  increased  my  impatience  more  and  more 
to  see  the  extraordinary  man  whose  works  I  highly  valued, 
and  whose  conversation  was  reported  to  be  so  peculiarly 
excellent. 

At  last,  on  Monday  the  16th  of  May,  when  I  was  sitting 
in  Mr.  Davies's  back-parlour,  after  having  drunk  tea  with 
him  and  Mrs.  Davies,  Johnson  unexpectedly  came  into  the 
shop;  and  Mr.  Davies  having  perceived  him  through  the 
glass-door  in  the  room  in  which  we  were  sitting,  advancing 
towards  us, — he  announced  his  aweful  approach  to  me,  some- 
what in  the  manner  of  an  actor  in  the  part  of  Horatio,  when 
he  addresses  Hamlet  on  the  appearance  of  his  father's  ghost, 
'Look,  my  Lord,  it  comes.'  I  found  that  I  had  a  very  per- 
fect idea  of  Johnson's  figure,  from  the  portrait  of  him  painted 
by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  soon  after  he  had  published  his 
Dictionary,  in  the  attitude  of  sitting  in  his  easy  chair  in  deep 
meditation,  which  was  the  first  picture  his  friend  did  for  him, 
which  Sir  Joshua  very  kindly  presented  to  me,  and  from  which 
an  engraving  has  been  made  for  this  work.  Mr.  Davies 
mentioned  my  name,  and  respectfully  introduced  me  to  him. 
I  was  much  agitated;  and  recollecting  his  prejudice  against 
the  Scotch,  of  which  I  had  heard  much,  I  said  to  Davies, 
'Don't  tell  where  I  come  from.' — 'From  Scotland,'  cried 
Davies  roguishly.  ^Mr.  Johnson,  (said  I)  I  do  indeed  come 
from  Scotland,  but  I  cannot  help  it.'  I  am  willing  to  flatter 
myself  that  I  meant  this  as  light  pleasantry  to  sooth  and 
conciliate  him,  and  not  as  an  humiliating  abasement  at  the 
expence  of  my  country.  But  however  that  might  be,  this 
speech  was  somewhat  unlucky;  for  with  that  quickness  of 
wit  for  which  he  was  so  remarkable,  he  seized  the  expres- 
sion 'come  from  Scotland,'  which  I  used  in  the  sense  of 


17631  BOSWELL'S  FIRST  MEETING  95 

being  of  that  country;  and,  as  if  I  had  said  that  I  had  come 
away  from  it,  or  left  it,  retorted,  'That,  Sir,  I  find,  is  what 
a  very  great  many  of  your  countrymen  cannot  help.'  This 
stroke  stunned  me  a  good  deal;  and  when  we  had  sat  down, 
I  felt  myself  not  a  little  embarrassed,  and  apprehensive  of 
what  might  come  next.  He  then  addressed  himself  to  Da  vies : 
*  What  do  you  think  of  Garrick  ?  He  has  refused  me  an  order 
for  the  play  for  Miss  Williams,  becau.se  he  knows  the  house 
will  be  full,  and  that  an  order  would  be  worth  three  shillings.' 
Eager  to  take  any  opening  to  get  into  conversation  with 
him,  I  ventured  to  say,  '0,  Sir,  I  cannot  think  Mr.  Garrick 
would  grudge  such  a  trifle  to  you.'  'Sir,  (said  he,  with  a 
stern  look,)  I  have  known  David  Garrick  longer  than  you  have 
done:  and  I  know  no  right  you  have  to  talk  to  me  on  the 
subject.'  Perhaps  I  deserved  this  check;  for  it  was  rather 
presumptuous  in  me,  an  entire  stranger,  to  express  any 
doubt  of  the  justice  of  his  animadversion  upon  his  old  ac- 
quaintance and  pupil.*  I  now  felt  myself  much  mortified, 
and  began  to  think  that  the  hope  which  I  had  long  indulged 
of  obtaining  his  acquaintance  was  blasted.  And,  in  truth, 
had  not  my  ardour  been  uncommonly  strong,  and  my  reso- 
lution uncommonly  persevering,  so  rough  a  reception  might 
have  deterred  me  for  ever  from  making  any  further  attempts. 
Fortunately,  however,  I  remained  upon  the  field  not  wholly 
discomfited. 

I  was  highly  plea.sed  with  the  extraordinary  vigour  of  his 
conversation,  and  regretted  that  I  was  drawn  away  from  it 
by  an  engagement  at  another  place.  I  had,  for  a  part  of 
the  evening,  been  left  alone  with  him,  and  had  ventured  to 
make  an  observation  now  and  then,  which  he  received  very 
civilly;  so  that  I  was  satisfied  that  though  there  was  a  rough- 
ness in  his  manner,  there  was  no  ill-nature  in  his  disposition. 


>  That  this  was  a  momentary  sally  against  Qanick  there  can  be 
no  doubt;  for  at  Johnson's  desire  he  had.  some  years  before,  given  a 
beneflt-night  at  Ws  theatre  to  this  vor>'  person,  by  which  slie  iiad  got 
two  hundred  poxmds.  Joimson,  indeed,  upon  all  other  occasions, 
when  I  was  in  his  company,  praised  the  very  liberal  charity  of  Gar- 
rick. I  once  mentioned  to  him,  '  It  Is  observed.  Sir,  that  you  attack 
Garrick  yourself,  but  will  suffer  nobody  else  to  do  it.'  Johnson, 
(smiling)  'Why,  Sir,  that  is  true.' — Boswbi.l. 


96  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i763 

Davies  followed  me  to  the  door,  and  when  I  complained  to 
him  a  little  of  the  hard  blows  which  the  great  man  had  given 
me,  he  kindly  took  upon  him  to  console  me  by  saying,  '  Don't 
be  uneasy.     I  can  see  he  likes  you  very  well.' 

A  few  days  afterwards  I  called  on  Davies,  and  asked  him 
if  he  thought  I  might  take  the  liberty  of  waiting  on  Mr. 
Johnson  at  his  Chambers  in  the  Temple.  He  said  I  cer- 
tainly might,  and  that  Mr.  Johnson  would  take  it  as  a  com- 
pliment. So  upon  Tuesday  the  24th  of  May,  after  having 
been  enlivened  by  the  witty  sallies  of  Messieurs  Thornton, 
Wilkes,  Churchill  and  Lloyd,  with  whom  I  had  passed  the 
morning,  I  boldly  repaired  to  Johnson.  His  Chambers  were 
on  the  first  floor  of  No.  1,  Inner-Temple-lane,  and  I  entered 
them  with  an  impression  given  me  by  the  Reverend  Dr. 
Blair,  of  Edinburgh,  who  had  been  introduced  to  him  not 
long  before,  and  described  his  having  'found  the  Giant  in 
his  den;'  an  expression,  which,  when  I  came  to  be  pretty 
well  acquainted  with  Johnson,  I  repeated  to  him,  and  he  was 
diverted  at  this  picturesque  account  of  himself.  Dr.  Blair 
had  been  presented  to  him  by  Dr.  James  Fordyce.  At  this 
time  the  controversy  concerning  the  pieces  published  by  Mr. 
James  Macpherson,  as  translations  of  Ossian,  was  at  its 
height.  Johnson  had  all  along  denied  their  authenticity; 
and,  what  was  still  more  provoking  to  their  admirers,  main- 
tained that  they  had  no  merit.  The  subject  having  been 
introduced  by  Dr.  Fordyce,  Dr.  Blair,  relying  on  the  in- 
ternal evidence  of  their  antiquity,  asked  Dr.  Johnson  whether 
he  thought  any  man  of  a  modern  age  could  have  written 
such  poems?  Johnson  replied,  'Yes,  Sir,  many  men,  many 
women,  and  many  children.'  Johnson,  at  this  time,  did  not 
know  that  Dr.  Blair  had  just  published  a  Dissertation,  not 
only  defending  their  authenticity,  but  seriously  ranking 
them  with  the  poems  of  Homer  and  Virgil;  and  when  he 
was  afterwards  informed  of  this  circumstance,  he  expressed 
some  displeasure  at  Dr.  Fordyce's  having  suggested  the 
topick,  and  said,  'I  am  not  sorry  that  they  got  thus  much 
for  their  pains.  Sir,  it  was  like  leading  one  to  talk  of  a  book 
when  the  authour  is  concealed  behind  the  door.' 

He  received  me  very  courteously;    but,  it  mupt  be  con- 


1763)  BOSWELL'S  FIRST  CALL  97 

fessed,  that  his  apartment,  and  furniture,  and  morning  dress, 
were  sufficiently  uncouth.  His  brown  suit  of  cioaths  looked 
very  rusty;  he  had  on  a  little  old  shrivelled  unpowdered 
wig,  which  was  too  small  for  his  head;  his  shirt-neck  and 
knees  of  his  breeches  were  loose;  his  black  worsted  stockings 
ill  drawn  up;  and  he  had  a  pair  of  unbuckled  shoes  by  way 
of  slippers.  But  all  these  slovenly  particularities  were  for- 
gotten the  moment  that  he  began  to  talk.  Some  gentle- 
men, whom  I  do  not  recollect,  were  sitting  with  him;  and 
when  they  went  away,  I  also  rose;  but  he  said  to  me,  'Nay, 
don't  go.'  'Sir,  (said  I,)  I  am  afraid  that  I  intrude  upon 
you.  It  is  benevolent  to  allow  me  to  sit  and  hear  you.' 
He  seemed  pleased  with  this  compliment,  which  I  sincerely 
paid  him,  and  answered,  'Sir,  I  am  obliged  to  any  man  who 
visits  me.'  I  have  preserved  the  following  short  minute  of 
what  passed  this  day: — 

'Madness  frequently  discovers  itself  merely  bj'  unneces- 
sary deviation  from  the  usual  modes  of  the  world.  My  poor 
friend  Smart  shewed  the  disturbance  of  his  mind,  by  falling 
upon  his  knees,  and  saying  his  prayers  in  the  street,  or  in 
any  other  unusual  place.  Now  although,  rationally  speak- 
ing, it  is  greater  madness  not  to  pray  at  all,  than  to  pray  as 
Smart  did,  I  am  afraid  there  are  so  many  who  do  not  pray, 
that  their  understanding  is  not  called  in  question.' 

Concerning  this  unfortunate  poet,  Christopher  Smart,  who 
was  confined  in  a  mad-house,  he  had,  at  another  time,  the 
following  conversation  with  Dr.  Burney: — Burney.  'How 
does  poor  Smart  do,  Sir;  is  he  likely  to  recover?'  Johnson. 
'It  seems  as  if  his  mind  had  ceased  to  struggle  with  the 
disease;  for  he  grows  fat  upon  it.'  Burney.  ' Perhaps,  Sir, 
that  may  be  from  want  of  exercise.'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir; 
he  has  partly  as  much  exercise  as  he  used  to  have,  for  he  digs 
in  the  garden.  Indeed,  before  his  confinement,  he  used  for 
exercise  to  walk  to  the  ale-house;  but  he  was  carried  back 
again.  I  did  not  think  he  ought  to  be  shut  up.  His  infir- 
mities were  not  noxious  to  society.  He  insisted  on  people 
praying  with  him;  and  I'd  as  lief  pray  with  Kit  Smart  as 
any  one  else.  Another  charge  was,  that  he  did  not  love 
clean  linen;    and  I  have  no  passion  for  it.' — Johnson  con- 


98  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i763 

tinued.  'Mankind  have  a  great  aversion  to  intellectual  la- 
bour; but  even  supposing  knowledge  to  be  easily  attainable, 
more  people  would  be  content  to  be  ignorant  than  would 
take  even  a  little  trouble  to  acquire  it.' 

Talking  of  Garrick,  he  said,  'He  is  the  first  man  in  the 
world  for  sprightly  conversation.' 

When  I  rose  a  second  time  he  again  pressed  me  to  stay, 
which  I  did. 

He  told  me,  that  he  generally  went  abroad  at  four  in  the 
afternoon,  and  seldom  came  home  till  two  in  the  morning. 
I  took  the  Uberty  to  ask  if  he  did  not  think  it  wrong  to  live 
thus,  and  not  make  more  use  of  his  great  talents.  He  owned 
it  was  a  bad  habit.  On  reviewing,  at  the  distance  of  many 
years,  my  journal  of  this  period,  I  wonder  how,  at  my  first 
visit,  I  ventured  to  talk  to  him  so  freely,  and  that  he  bore  it 
with  so  much  indulgence. 

Before  we  parted,  he  was  so  good  as  to  promise  to  favour 
me  with  his  company  one  evening  at  my  lodgings;  and,  as 
I  took  my  leave,  shook  me  cordially  by  the  hand.  It  is 
almost  needless  to  add,  that  I  felt  no  little  elation  at  having 
now  so  happily  established  an  acquaintance  of  which  I  had 
been  so  long  ambitious. 

I  did  not  visit  him  again  till  Monday,  June  13,  at  which 
time  I  recollect  no  part  of  his  conversation,  except  that 
when  I  told  him  I  had  been  to  see  Johnson  ride  upon  three 
horses,  he  said,  'Such  a  man,  Sir,  should  be  encouraged; 
for  his  performances  shew  the  extent  of  the  human  powers 
in  one  instance,  and  thus  tend  to  raise  our  opinion  of  the 
faculties  of  man.  He  shews  what  may  be  attained  by  per- 
severing application;  so  that  every  man  may  hope,  that  by 
giving  as  much  application,  although  perhaps  he  may  never 
ride  three  horses  at  a  time,  or  dance  upon  a  wire,  j'^et  he  may 
be  equally  expert  in  whatever  profession  he  has  chosen  to 
pursue.' 

He  again  shook  me  by  the  hand  at  parting,  and  asked  me 
why  I  did  not  come  oftener  to  him.  Trusting  that  I  was 
now  in  his  good  graces,  I  answered,  that  he  had  not  given 
me  much  encouragement,  and  reminded  him  of  the  check 
I  had  received  from  him  at  our  first  interview.     '  Poh,  poh ! 


1763]  THE  MITRE  TAVERN  99 

• 
(said  he,  with  a  complacent  smile,)  never  mind  these  things. 
Come  to  me  as  often  as  you  can.     I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you/ 

I  had  learnt  that  his  place  of  frequent  resort  was  the 
Mitre  tavern  in  Fleet-street,  where  he  loved  to  sit  up  late, 
and  I  begged  I  might  be  allowed  to  pass  an  evening  with  him 
there  soon,  which  he  promised  I  should.  A  few  days  after- 
wards I  met  him  near  Temple-bar,  about  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  asked  if  he  would  then  go  to  the  Mitre.  'Sir, 
(said  he)  it  is  too  late;  they  won't  let  us  in.  But  I'll  go  with 
you  another  night  with  all  my  heart.' 

A  revolution  of  some  importance  in  my  plan  of  life  had 
just  taken  place;  for  instead  of  procuring  a  commission  in 
the  foot-guards,  which  was  my  own  inclination,  I  had,  in 
compliance  with  my  father's  wishes,  agreed  to  study  the 
law;  and  was  soon  to  set  out  for  Utrecht,  to  hear  the  lectures 
of  an  excellent  Civilian  in  that  University,  and  then  to 
proceed  on  my  travels.  Though  very  desirous  of  obtaining 
Dr.  Johnson's  advice  and  instructions  on  the  mode  of  pur- 
suing my  studies,  I  was  at  this  time  so  occupied,  shall  I 
call  it?  or  so  dissipated,  by  the  amusements  of  London,  that 
our  next  meeting  was  not  till  Saturday,  June  25,  when 
happening  to  dine  at  Clifton's  eating-house,  in  Butcher-row 
I  was  surprized  to  perceive  Johnson  come  in  and  take  his 
seat  at  another  table.  The  mode  of  dining,  or  rather  being 
fed,  at  such  houses  in  London,  is  well  known  to  many  to 
be  particularly  unsocial,  as  there  is  no  Ordinary,  or  united 
company,  but  each  person  has  his  own  mess,  and  is  under 
no  obligation  to  hold  any  intercourse  with  any  one.  A 
liberal  and  full-minded  man,  however,  who  loves  to  talk, 
will  break  through  this  churlish  and  unsocial  restraint. 
Johnson  and  an  Irish  gentleman  got  into  a  dispute  concern- 
ing the  cause  of  some  part  of  mankind  being  black.  'Why, 
Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  it  has  been  accounted  for  in  three  ways: 
either  by  supposing  that  they  are  the  posterity  of  Ham, 
who  was  cursed;  or  that  God  at  first  created  two  kinds  of 
men,  one  black  and  another  white;  or  that  by  the  heat  of 
the  sun  the  skin  is  scorched,  and  so  acquires  a  sooty  hue. 
This  matter  has  been  much  canvassed  among  naturalists, 
but  has  never  been  brought  to  any  certain  issue.'    What 


100  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i763 

• 
the  Irishman  said  is  totally  obliterated  from  my  mind;  but 
I  remember  that  he  became  very  warm  and  intemperate  in 
his  expressions;  upon  which  Johnson  rose,  and  quietly 
walked  away.  When  he  had  retired,  his  antagonist  took 
his  revenge,  as  he  thought,  by  saying,  '  He  has  a  most  ungainly 
figure,  and  an  affectation  of  pomposity,  unworthy  of  a  man 
of  (genius.' 

Johnson  had  not  observed  that  I  was  in  the  room.  I 
followed  him,  however,  and  he  agreed  to  meet  me  in  the 
evening  at  the  Mitre.  I  called  on  him,  and  tve  went  thither 
at  nine.  We  had  a  good  supper,  and  port  wine,  of  which  he 
then  sometimes  drank  a  bottle.  The  orthodox  high-church 
sound  of  the  Mitre, — the  figure  and  manner  of  the  cele- 
brated Samuel  Johnson, — the  extraordinary  power  and  pre- 
cision of  his  conversation,  and  the  pride  arising  from  finding 
myself  admitted  as  his  companion,  produced  a  variety  of 
sensations,  and  a  pleasing  elevation  of  mind  beyond  what 
I  had  ever  before  experienced.  I  find  in  my  journal  the 
following  minute  of  our  conversation,  which,  though  it  will 
give  but  a  very  faint  notion  of  what  passed,  is  in  some  de- 
gree a  valuable  record;  and  it  will  be  curious  in  this  view, 
as  shewing  how  habitual  to  his  mind  were  some  opinions 
which  appear  in  his  works. 

'CoUey  Gibber,  Sir,  was  by  no  means  a  blockhead;  but 
by  arrogating  to  himself  too  much,  he  was  in  danger  of 
.losing  that  degree  of  estimation  to  which  he  was  entitled. 
His  friends  gave  out  that  he  intended  his  birth-day  Odes 
should  be  bad:  but  that  was  not  the  case.  Sir;  for  he  kept 
them  many  months  by  him,  and  a  few  years  before  he  died 
he  shewed  me  one  of  them,  with  great  solicitude  to  render  it 
as  perfect  as  might  be,  and  I  made  some  corrections,  to  which 
he  was  not  very  willing  to  submit.  I  remember  the  follow- 
ing couplet  in  allusion  to  the  King  and  himself: 

"  Perch'd  on  the  eagle's  soaring  wing, 
The  lowly  linnet  loves  to  sing." 

Sir,  he  had  heard  something  of  the  fabulous  tale  of  the  wren 
sitting  upon  the  eagle's  wing,  and  he  had  applied  it  to  a 


1763]  JOHNSON  ON  GRAY  101 

linnet.  Gibber's  familiar  style,  however,  was  better  than 
that  which  Whitehead  has  assumed.  Grand  nonsense  is  in- 
supportable. Whitehead  is  but  a  little  man  to  inscribe 
verses  to  players. 

'Sir,  I  do  not  think  Gray  a  first-rate  poet.  He  has  not 
a  bold  imagination,  nor  much  command  of  words.  The 
obscurity  in  which  he  has  involved  himself  will  not  persuade 
us  that  he  is  sublime.  His  Elegy  in  a  Church-yard  has  a 
happy  selection  of  images,  but  I  don't  like  what  are  called 
his  great  things.     His  Ode  which  begins 

"  Ruin  seize  thee,  ruthless  King, 
Ck>nfusion  on  thy  banners  wait !" 

has  been  celebrated  for  its  abruptness,  and  plunging  into  the 
subject  all  at  once.  But  such  arts  as  these  have  no  merit, 
unless  when  they  are  original.  We  admire  them  only  once; 
and  this  abruptness  has  nothing  new  in  it.  We  have  had  it 
often  before.  Nay,  we  have  it  in  the  old  song  of  Johnny 
Armstrong: 

"Is  there  ever  a  man  in  all  Scotland 
From  the  highest  estate  to  the  lowest  d^ree,"  &c. 

And  then.  Sir, 

"Yes,  there  is  a  man  in  Westmoreland, 
And  Johnny  Armstrong  they  do  him  call." 

There,  now,  you  plunge  at  once  into  the  subject.  You  have 
no  previous  narration  to  lead  you  to  it.  The  two  next  lines 
in  that  Ode  are,  I  think,  very  good: 

"Though  fann'd  by  conquest's  crimson  wing, 
They  mock  the  air  with  idle  state." ' 

Finding  him  in  a  placid  humour,  and  wishing  to  avail 
myself  of  the  opportunity  which  I  fortunately  had  of  con- 
sulting a  sage,  to  hear  whose  wisdom,  I  conceived  in  the 
ardour  of  youthful  imagination,  that  men  filled  with  a  noble 


102  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i763 

enthusiasm  for  intellectual  improvement  would  gladly  have 
resorted  from  distant  lands; — I  op)ened  my  mind  to  him 
ingenuously,  and  gave  him  a  little  sketch  of  my  life,  to  which 
he  was  pleased  to  listen  with  great  attention. 

I  acknowledged,  that  though  educated  very  strictly  in  the 
principles  of  religion,  I  had  for  some  time  been  misled  into 
a  certain  degree  of  infidelity;  but  that  I  was  come  now  to 
a  better  way  of  thinking,  and  was  fully  satisfied  of  the 
truth  of  the  Christian  revelation,  though  I  was  not  clear 
as  to  every  point  considered  to  be  orthodox.  Being  at  all 
times  a  curious  examiner  of  the  human  mind,  and  pleased 
with  an  undisguised  display  of  what  had  passed  in  it,  he 
called  to  me  with  warmth,  'Give  me  your  hand;  I  have 
taken  a  liking  to  you.'  He  then  began  to  descant  upon  the 
force  of  testimony,  and  the  little  we  could  know  of  final 
causes;  so  that  the  objections  of,  why  was  it  so?  or  why 
was  it  not  so  ?  ought  not  to  disturb  us :  adding,  that  he  him- 
self had  at  one  period  been  guilty  of  a  temporary'  neglect  of 
religion,  but  that  it  was  not  the  result  of  argument,  but 
mere  absence  of  thought. 

After  having  given  credit  to  reports  of  his  bigotry,  I  was 
agreeably  surprized  when  he  expressed  the  following  very 
liberal  sentiment,  which  has  the  additional  value  of  obvi- 
ating an  objection  to  our  holy  religion,  founded  upon  the  dis- 
cordant tenets  of  Christians  themselves:  'For  my  part,  Sir, 
I  think  all  Christians,  whether  Papists  or  Protestants,  agree 
in  the  essential  articles,  and  that  their  differences  are  tri\dal, 
and  rather  poUtical  than  religious.' 

We  talked  of  belief  in  ghosts.  He  said,  'Sir,  I  make  a 
distinction  between  what  a  man  may  experience  by  the 
mere  strength  of  his. imagination,  and  what  imaguiation 
cannot  possibly  produce.  Thus,  suppose  I  should  think 
that  I  saw  a  form,  and  heard  a  voice  cry  "Johnson,  you  are 
a  very  wicked  fellow,  and  unless  you  repent  you  Avill  cer- 
tainly be  punished;"  my  own  unworthiness  is  so  deeply  im- 
pressed upon  my  mind,  that  I  might  imagine  I  thus  saw 
and  heard,  and  therefore  I  should  not  believe  that  an  external 
communication  had  been  made  to  me.  But  if  a  form  should 
appear,  and  a  voice  should  tell  me  that  a  particular  man 


17631  BELIEF  IN  GHOSTS  103 

had  died  at  a  particular  place,  and  a  particular  hour,  a  fact 
which  I  had  no  apprehension  of,  nor  any  means  of  knowing, 
and  this  fact,  with  all  its  circumstances,  should  afterwards  be 
unquestionably  proved,  I  should,  in  that  case,  be  persuaded 
that  I  had  supernatural  intelligence  imparted  to  me.' 

Here  it  is  proper,  once  for  all,  to  give  a  true  and  fair  state- 
ment of  Johnson's  way  of  thinking  upon  the  question, 
whether  departed  spirits  are  ever  permitted  to  appear  in 
this  world,  or  in  any  way  to  operate  upon  human  life.  He 
has  been  ignorantly  misrepresented  as  weakly  credulous 
upon  that  subject;  and,  therefore,  though  I  feel  an  inclina- 
tion to  disdain  and  treat  with  silent 'contempt  so  foolish  a 
notion  concerning  my  illustrious  friend,  yet  as  I  find  it  has 
gained  ground,  it  is  necessary  to  refute  it.  The  real  fact 
then  is,  that  Johnson  had  a  very  philosophical  mind,  and  such 
a  rational  respect  for  testimony,  as  to  make  him  submit  his 
understanding  to  what  was  authentically  proved,  though  he 
could  not  comprehend  why  it  was  so.  Being  thus  disposed, 
he  was  willing  to  inquire  into  the  truth  of  any  relation  of 
supernatural  agency,  a  general  belief  of  which  has  prevailed 
in  all  nations  and  ages.  But  so  far  was  he  from  being  the 
dupe  of  implicit  faith,  that  he  examined  the  matter  with  a 
jealous  attention,  and  no  man  was  more  ready  to  refute  its 
falsehood  when  he  had  discovered  it.  Churchill,  in  his  poem 
entitled  The  Ghost,  availed  himself  of  the  absurd  credulity 
imputed  to  Johnson,  and  drew  a  caricature  of  him  under  the 
name  of  'Pomposo,'  representing  him  as  one  of  the  believers 
of  the  story  of  a  Ghost  in  Cock-lane,  which,  in  the  year 
1762,  had  gained  ver\'  general  credit  in  London.  Many  of 
my  readers,  I  am  convinced,  are  to  this  hour  under  an  im- 
pression that  Johnson  was  thus  foohshly  deceived.  It  will 
therefore  surprize  them  a  good  deal  when  they  are  informed 
upon  undoubted  authority,  that  Johnson  was  one  of  those 
by  whom  the  imposture  was  detected.  The  story  had  be- 
come so  popular,  that  he  thought  it  should  be  investigated; 
and  in  this  research  he  was  assisted  by  the  Reverend  Dr. 
Douglas,  now  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  the  great  detector  of  im- 
postures; who  informs  me,  that  after  the  gentlemen  who  \^ent 
and  examined  into  the  evidence  were  satisfied  of  its  falsity, 


104  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i763 

Johnson  wrote  in  their  presence  an  account  of  it,  which  was 
published  in  the  newspapers  and  Gentleman's  Magazine,  and 
undeceived  the  world. 

Our  conversation  proceeded.  '  Sir,  (said  he)  I  am  a  friend 
to  subordination,  as  most  conducive  to  the  happiness  of 
society.  There  is  a  reciprocal  pleasure  in  governing  and 
being  governed.' 

'  Dr.  Goldsmith  is  one  of  the  first  men  we  now  have  as  an 
authour,  and  he  is  a  very  worthy  man  too.  He  has  been 
loose  in  his  principles,  but  he  is  coming  right.' 

I  complained  to  him  that  I  had  not  yet  acquired  much 
knowledge,  and  asked  his  advice  as  to  my  studies.  He  said, 
'  Don't  talk  of  study  now.  I  will  give  you  a  plan ;  but  it  will 
require  some  time  to  consider  of  it.'  'It  is  very  good  in  you 
(I  replied,)  to  allow  me  to  be  with  you  thus.  Had  it  been 
foretold  to  me  some  years  ago  that  I  should  pass  an  evening 
with  the  authour  of  The  Rambler,  how  should  I  have  ex- 
ulted ! '  What  I  then  expressed,  was  sincerely  from  the  heart. 
He  was  satisfied  that  it  was,  and  cordially  answered,  'Sir, 
I  am  glad  we  have  met.  I  hope  we  shall  pass  many  evenings 
and  mornings  too,  together.'  We  finished  a  couple  of  bottles 
of  port,  and  sat  till  between  one  and  two  in  the  morning. 

As  Dr.  Oliver  Goldsmith  wiU  frequently  appear  in  this 
narrative,  I  shall  endeavour  to  make  my  readers  in  some 
degree  acquainted  with  his  singular  character.  He  was  a 
native  of  Ireland,  and  a  contemporary  with  Mr.  Burke  at 
Trinity  College,  Dublin,  but  did  not  then  give  much  promise 
of  future  celebrity.  He,  however,  observed  to  Mr.  Malone, 
that  'though  he  made  no  great  figure  in  mathematicks, 
which  was  a  study  in  much  repute  there,  he  could  turn  an 
Ode  of  Horace  into  English  better  than  any  of  them.'  He 
afterwards  studied  physick  at  Edinburgh,  and  upon  the  Con- 
tinent; and  I  have  been  informed,  was  enabled  to  pursue 
his  travels  on  foot,  partly  by  demanding  at  Universities  to 
enter  the  lists  as  a  disputant,  by  which,  according  to  the 
custom  of  many  of  them,  he  was  entitled  to  the  premium  of 
a  crown,  when  luckily  for  him  his  challenge  was  not  accepted; 
so  that,  as  I  once  observed  to  Dr.  Johnson,  he  disputed  his 
passage  through  Europe.     He  then  came  to  England,  and 


17631  GOLDSMITH  105 

was  employed  successively  in  the  capacities  of  an  usher  to 
an  academy,  a  corrector  of  the  press,  a  reviewer,  and  a  writer 
for  a  news-paper.  He  had  sagacity  enough  to  cultivate 
assiduously  the  acquaintance  of  Johnson,  and  his  faculties 
were  gradually  enlarged  by  the  contemplation  of  such  a 
model.  To  me  and  many  others  it  appeared  that  he  studi- 
ously copied  the  manner  of  Johnson,  though,  indeed,  upon 
a  smaller  scale. 

At  this  time  I  think  he  had  published  nothing  with  his 
name,  though  it  was  pretty  generally  known  that  one  Dr. 
Goldsmith  was  the  authour  of  An  Enquiry  into  the  present 
State  of  polite  Learning  in  Europe,  and  of  The  Citizen  of  the 
World,  a  series  of  letters  supposed  to  be  written  from  London 
by  a  Chinese.  No  man  had  the  art  of  displaying  with  more 
advantage  as  a  writer,  whatever  literary  acquisitions  he 
made.  '  Nihil  quod  tetigit  non  omavit^.'  His  mind  resembled 
a  fertile,  but  thin  soil.  There  was  a  quick,  but  not  a  strong 
vegetation,  of  whatever  chanced  to  be  thrown  upon  it.  No 
deep  root  could  be  struck.  The  oak  of  the  forest  did  not 
grow  there;  but  the  elegant  shrubbery  and  the  fragrant 
parterre  appeared  in  gay  succession.  It  has  been  generally 
circulated  and  believed  that  he  was  a  mere  fool  in  conver- 
sation ;  but,  in  truth,  this  has  been  greatly  exaggerated.  He 
had,  no  doubt,  a  more  than  common  share  of  that  hurry 
of  ideas  which  we  often  find  in  his  countrymen,  and  which 
sometimes  produces  a  laughable  confusion  in  expressing 
them.  He  was  very  much  what  the  French  call  un  etourdi, 
and  from  vanity  and  an  eager  desire  of  being  conspicuous 
wherever  he  was,  he  frequently  talked  carelessly  without 
knowledge  of  the  subject,  or  even  without  thought.  His 
person  was  short,  his  countenance  coarse  and  vulgar,  his 
deportment  that  of  a  scholar  aukwardly  affecting  the  easy 
gentleman.  Those  who  were  in  any  way  distinguished,  ex- 
cited envy  in  him  to  so  ridiculous  an  excess,  that  the  in- 
stances of  it  are  hardly  credible.  When  accompanying  two 
beautiful  young  ladies^  with  their  mother  on  a  tour  in  France, 

»  See  below,  p.  316. — Ed. 

» These  were  the  Misses  Homeck,  known  otherwise  as  '  Little  Com- 
edy" and  'The  Jessamy  Bride.' — Ed. 


106  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i768 

he  was  seriously  angry  that  more  attention  was  paid  to  them 
than  to  him;  and  once  at  the  exhibition  of  the  Fantoccini  in 
London,  when  those  who  sat  next  him  observed  with  what 
dexterity  a  puppet  was  made  to  toss  a  pike,  he  could  not 
bear  that  it  should  have  such  praise,  and  exclaimed  with 
some  warmth,  'Pshaw!  I  can  do  it  better  myself.' 

He  boasted  to  me  at  this  time  of  the  power  of  his  pen 
in  commanding  money,  which  I  believe  was  true  in  a  certain 
degree,  though  in  the  instance  he  gave  he  was  by  no  means 
correct.  He  told  me  that  he  had  sold  a  novel  for  four  hun- 
dred pounds.  This  was  his  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  But  John- 
son informed  me,  that  he  had  made  the  bargain  for  Gold- 
smith, and  the  price  was  sixty  pounds.  'And,  Sir,  (said  he,) 
a  sufficient  price  too,  when  it  was  sold;  for  then  the  fame 
of  Goldsmith  had  not  been  elevated,  as  it  afterwards  was, 
by  his  Traveller;  and  the  bookseller  had  such  faint  hopes  of 
profit  by  his  bargain,  that  he  kept  the  manuscript  by  him 
a  long  time,  and  did  not  publish  it  till  after  The  Traveller 
had  appeared.  Then,  to  be  sure,  it  was  accidentally  worth 
more  money.' 

Mrs.  Piozzi  and  Sir  John  Hawkins  have  strangely  mis- 
stated the  history  of  Goldsmith's  situation  and  Johnson's 
friendly  interference,  when  this  novel  was  sold.  I  shall  give 
it  authentically  from  Johnson's  own  exact  narration: — 'I 
received  one  morning  a  message  from  poor  Goldsmith  that 
he  was  in  great  distress,  and  as  it  was  not  in  his  power  to 
come  to  me,  begging  that  I  would  come  to  him  as  soon  as 
possible.  I  sent  him  a  guinea,  and  promised  to  come  to  him 
directly.  I  accordingly  went  as  soon  as  I  was  drest,  and 
found  that  his  landlady  had  arrested  him  for  his  rent,  at 
which  he  was  in  a  violent  passion.  I  perceived  that  he  had 
already  changed  my  guinea,  and  had  got  a  bottle  of  Madeira 
and  a  glass  before  him.  I  put  the  cork  into  the  bottle,  de- 
sired he  would  be  calm,  and  began  to  talk  to  him  of  the 
means  by  which  he  might  be  extricated.  He  then  told  me 
that  he  had  a  novel  ready  for  the  press,  which  he  produced 
to  me.  I  looked  into  it,  and  saw  its  merit;  told  the  land- 
lady I  should  soon  return,  and  having  gone  to  a  bookseller, 
sold  it  for  sixty  pounds.     I  brought  Goldsmith  the  money, 


1763]       WITH  GOLDSMITH  AND  JOHNSON         107 

and  he  discharged  his  rent,  not  without  rating  his  landlady 
in  a  high  tone  for  having  used  him  so  ill.' 

My  next  meeting  with  Johnson  was  on  Friday  the  1st  of 
July,  when  he  and  I  and  Dr.  Goldsmith  supped  together  at 
the  Mitre.  I  was  before  this  time  pretty  well  acquainted 
with  Goldsmith,  who  was  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments  of 
the  Johnsonian  school.  Goldsmith's  respectful  attachment 
to  Johnson  was  then  at  its  height;  for  his  own  literary  repu- 
tation had  not  yet  distinguished  him  so  much  as  to  excite 
a  vain  desire  of  competition  with  his  great  Master.  He  had 
increased  my  admiration  of  the  goodness  of  Johnson's  heart, 
by  incidental  remarks  in  the  course  of  conversation,  such  as, 
when  I  mentioned  Mr.  Levet,  whom  he  entertained  under  his 
roof,  'He  is  poor  and  honest,  which  is  recommendation 
enough  to  Johnson;'  and  when  I  wondered  that  he  was  very 
kind  to  a  man  of  whom  I  had  heard  a  very  bad  character, 
'He  is  now  become  miserable,  and  that  insures  the  protec- 
tion of  Johnson.' 

He  talked  very  contemptuously  of  Churchill's  poetry, 
observing,  that  'it  had  a  temporary  currency,  only  from  its 
audacity  of  abuse,  and  being  filled  with  li\'ing  names,  and 
that  it  would  sink  into  obhvion.'  I  ventured  to  hint  that 
he  was  not  quite  a  fair  judge,  as  Churchill  had  attacked 
him  violently.  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  I  am  a  very  fair  judge. 
He  did  not  attack  me  violently  till  he  found  I  did  not  like 
his  poetry;  and  his  attack  on  me  shall  not  prevent  me  from 
continuing  to  say  what  I  think  of  him,  from  an  apprehension 
that  it  may  be  ascribed  to  resentment.  No,  Sir,  I  called 
the  fellow  a  blockhead  at  first,  and  I  will  call  him  a  block- 
head still.  However,  I  will  acknowledge  that  I  have  a  better 
opinion  of  him  now,  than  I  once  had;  for  he  has  shewn 
more  fertility  than  I  expected.  To  be  sure,  he  is  a  tree  that 
cannot  produce  good  fruit:  he  only  bears  crabs.  But,  Sir, 
a  tree  that  produces  a  great  many  crabs  is  better  than  a 
tr*je  which  produces  only  a  few.' 

Let  me  here  apologize  for  the  imperfect  manner  in  which 
I  &m  obliged  to  exhibit  Johnson's  conversation  at  this  period. 
In  the  early  part  of  my  acquaintance  with  him,  I  was  so 
wi-apt  in  admiration  of  his  extraordinary  colloquial  talents, 


108  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i763 

and  so  little  accustomed  to  his  peculiar  mode  of  expression, 
that  I  found  it  extremely  difficult  to  recollect  and  record  his 
conversation  with  its  genuine  vigour  and  vivacity.  In  prog- 
ress of  time,  when  my  mind  was,  as  it  were,  strongly  impreg- 
nated with  the  Johnsonian  cether,  I  could,  with  much  more 
faciUty  and  exactness,  carry  in  my  memory  and  commit  to 
paper  the  exuberant  variety  of  his  wisdom  and  wit. 

At  this  time  Miss  Williams,  as  she  was  then  called,  though 
she  did  not  reside  with  him  in  the  Temple  under  his  roof, 
but  had  lodgings  in  Bolt-court,  Fleet-street,  had  so  much  of 
his  attention,  that  he  every  night  drank  tea  with  her  before 
he  went  home,  however  late  it  might  be,  and  she  always  sat 
up  for  him.  This,  it  may  be  fairly  conjectured,  was  not 
alone  a  proof  of  his  regard  for  her,  but  of  his  own  unwilling- 
ness to  go  into  solitude,  before  that  unseasonable  hour  at 
which  he  had  habituated  himself  to  expect  the  obUvion  of 
repose.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  being  a  privileged  man,  went  with 
him  this  night,  strutting  away,  and  calling  to  me  with  an. 
air  of  superiority,  like  that  of  an  esoterick  over  an  exoterick 
disciple  of  a  sage  of  antiquity,  'I  go  to  Miss  Williams.'  I 
confess,  I  then  envied  him  this  mighty  privilege,  of  which 
he  seemed  so  proud;  but  it  was  not  long  before  I  obtained 
the  same  mark  of  distinction. 

On  Tuesday  the  5th  of  July,  I  again  visited  Johnson. 

Talking  of  London,  he  observed,  'Sir,  if  you  wish  to  have 
a  just  notion  of  the  magnitude  of  this  city,  you  must  not  be 
satisfied  with  seeing  its  great  streets  and  squares,  but  must 
survey  the  innumerable  little  lanes  and  courts.  It  is  not  in 
the  showy  evolutions  of  buildings,  but  in  the  multiplicity  of 
human  habitations  which  are  crouded  together,  that  the 
wonderful  immensity  of  London  consists.' 

On  Wednesday,  July  6,  he  was  engaged  to  sup  with  me  at 
my  lodgings  in  Downing-street,  Westminster.  But  on  the 
preceding  night  my  landlord  having  behaved  very  rudely 
to  me  and  some  company  who  were  with  me,  I  had  resolved 
not  to  remain  another  night  in  his  house.  I  was  exceedingly 
uneasy  at  the  aukward  appearance  I  supposed  I  should  make 
to  Johnson  and  the  other  gentlemen  whom  I  had  invited, 
not  being  able  to  receive  them  at  home,  and  being  obliged 


1763]  GOLDSMITH  EAGER  TO  SHINE  109 

to  order  supper  at  the  Mitre.  I  went  to  Johnson  in  the 
morning,  and  talked  of  it  as  a  serious  distress.  He  laughed, 
and  said,  '  Consider,  Sir,  how  insignificant  this  will  appear  a 
twelvemonth  hence.' — Were  this  consideration  to  be  applied 
to  most  of  the  little  vexatious  incidents  of  life,  by  which  our 
quiet  is  too  often  disturbed,  it  would  prevent  many  painful 
sensations.  I  have  tried  it  frequently,  with  good  effect. 
'There  is  nothing  (continued  he)  in  this  mighty  misfortune; 
nay,  we  shall  be  better  at  the  Mitre.' 

I  had  as  my  guests  this  evening  at  the  Mitre  tavern.  Dr. 
Johnson,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  Mr.  Thomas  Davies,  Mr.  Eccles,  an 
Irish  gentleman,  for  whose  agreeable  company  I  was  obliged 
to  Mr.  Davies,  and  the  Reverend  Mr.  John  Ogilvie,  who 
was  desirous  of  being  in  company  with  my  illustrious  friend, 
while  I,  in  my  turn,  was  proud  to  have  the  honour  of  shew- 
ing one  of  my  countrymen  upon  what  easy  terms  Johnson 
permitted  me  to  live  with  him. 

Goldsmith,  as  usual,  endeavoured,  with  too  much  eager- 
ness, to  shine,  and  disputed  very  warmly  with  Johnson 
against  the  well-knowTi  maxim  of  the  British  constitution, 
'the  King  can  do  no  wTong;'  affirming,  that  'what  was 
morally  false  could  not  be  politically  true;  and  as  the  King 
might,  in  the  exercise  of  his  regal  power,  command  and  cause 
the  doing  of  what  was  wrong,  it  certainly  might  be  said,  in 
sense  and  in  reason,  that  he  could  do  wrong.'  Johnson. 
'Sir,  you  are  to  consider,  that  in  our  constitution,  according 
to  its  true  principles,  the  King  is  the  head;  he  is  supreme; 
he  is  above  every  thing,  and  there  is  no  power  by  which  he 
can  be  tried.  Therefore,  it  is,  Sir,  that  w^e  hold  the  King 
can  do  no  wrong;  that  whatever  may  happen  to  be  wrong 
in  government  may  not  be  above  our  reach,  by  being  ascribed 
to  Majesty.  Redress  is  always  to  be  had  against  oppression^ 
by  punishing  the  immediate  agents.  The  King,  though  he 
should  command,  cannot  force  a  Judge  to  condemn  a  man 
unjustly;  therefore  it  is  the  Judge  whom  we  prosecute  and 
punish.  Political  institutions  are  formed  upon  the  con- 
sideration of  what  will  most  frequently  tend  to  the  good  of 
the  whole,  although  now  and  then  exceptions  may  occur. 
Thus  it  is  better  in  general  that  a  nation  should  have  a  su- 


lip  LIFE   OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [i763 

preme  legislative  power,  although  it  may  at  times  be  abused. 
And  then,  Sir,  there  is  this  consideration,  that  if  the  abuse  he 
enormous,  Nature  will  rise  up,  and  claiming  her  original  rights, 
overturn  a  corrupt  political  system.'  I  mark  this  animated 
sentence  with  peculiar  pleasure,  as  a  noble  instance  of  that 
truly  dignified  spirit  of  freedom  which  ever  glowed  in  his 
heart,  though  he  was  charged  with  slavish  tenets  by  super- 
ficial observers;  because  he  was  at  all  times  indignant  against 
that  false  patriotism,  that  pretended  love  of  freedom,  that 
unruly  restlessness,  which  is  inconsistent  with  the  stab!e 
authority  of  any  good  government. 

'Bayle's  Dictionary  is  a  very  useful  work  for  those  to  con- 
sult who  love  the  biographical  part  of  literature,  which  is 
what  I  love  most.' 

Talking  of  the  eminent  writers  in  Queen  Anne's  reign,  he 
observed,  '  I  think  Dr.  Arbuthnot  the  first  man  among  them. 
He  was  the  most  universal  genius,  being  an  excellent  physi- 
cian, a  man  of  deep  learning,  and  a  man  of  much  humour. 
Mr.  Addison  was,  to  be  sure,  a  great  man;  his  learning  was 
not  profound;  but  his  morality,  his  humour,  and  his  elegance 
of  writing,  set  him  very  high.' 

Mr.  Ogilvie  was  unlucky  enough  to  choose  for  the  topick 
of  his  conversation  the  praises  of  his  native  country.  He 
began  with  saving,  that  there  was  very  rich  land  round 
Edinburgh.  Goldsmith,  who  had  studied  physick  there, 
contradicted  this,  very  untruly,  with  a  sneering  laugh.  Dis- 
concerted a  little  by  this,  Mr.  Ogilvie  then  took  new  ground, 
where,  I  suppose,  he  thought  himself  perfectly  safe;  for  he 
observed,  that  Scotland  had  a  great  many  noble  wild  pros- 
pects. Johnson.  'I  believe.  Sir,  you  have  a  great  many. 
Norway,  too,  has  noble  wild  prospects;  and  Lapland  is  re- 
markable for  prodigious  noble  wild  prospects.  But,  Sir, 
let  me  tell  you,  the  noblest  prospect  which  a  Scotchman 
ever  sees,  is  the  high  road  that  leads  him  to  England!' 
This  unexpected  and  pointed  sally  produced  a  roar  of  ap- 
plause. After  all,  however,  those,  who  admire  the  rude 
grandeur  of  Nature,  cannot  deny  it  to  Caledonia. 

On  Saturday,  July  9,  I  found  Johnson  surrounded  with  a 
numerous  levee,  but  have  not  preserved  any  part  of  his  con- 


1763)  THE  EXCELLENCE  OF  RHYME  111 

versation.  On  the  14th  we  had  another  evening  by  ourselves 
at  the  Mitre.  It  happening  to  be  a  very  rainy  night,  I  made 
some  common-place  observations  on  the  relaxation  of  nerves 
and  depression  of  spirits  which  such  weather  occasioned; 
adding,  however,  that  it  was  good  for  the  vegetable  creation. 
Johnson,  who,  as  we  have  already  seen,  denied  that  the 
temperature  of  the  air  had  any  influence  on  the  human 
frame,  answered,  with  a  smile  of  ridicule.  '  Why  yes,  Sir,  it 
Ls  good  for  vegetables,  and  for  the  animals  who  eat  those 
vegetables,  and  for  the  animals  who  eat  those  animals.' 
This  observation  of  his  aptly  enough  introduced  a  good 
supper;  and  I  soon  forgot,  in  Johnson's  company,  the  influ- 
ence of  a  moist  atmosphere. 

Feeling  myself  now  quite  at  ease  as  his  companion,  though 
I  had  all  possible  reverence  for  him,  I  expressed  a  regret  that 
I  could  not  be  so  easy  with  my  father,  though  he  was  not 
much  older  than  Johnson,  and  certainly  however  respectable 
had  not  more  learning  and  greater  abilities  to  depress  me. 
I  asked  him  the  reason  of  this.  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  I 
am  a  man  of  the  world.  I  live  in  the  world,  and  I  take,  in 
some  degree,  the  colour  of  the  world  as  it  moves  along. 
Your  father  is  a  Judge  in  a  remote  part  of  the  island,  and 
all  his  notions  are  taken  from  the  old  world.  Besides,  Sir, 
there  must  always  be  a  struggle  between  a  father  and  son, 
while  one  aims  at  power  and  the  other  at  independence.' 

He  enlarged  very  convincingly  upon  the  excellence  of 
rhyme  over  blank  verse  in  English  poetry.  I  mentioned  to 
him  that  Dr.  Adam  Smith,  in  his  lectures  upon  composition, 
when  I  studied  under  him  in  the  College  of  Glasgow,  had 
maintained  the  same  opinion  strenuously,  and  I  repeated 
some  of  his  arguments.  Johnson.  '  Sir,  I  was  once  in  com- 
pany with  Smith,  and  we  did  not  take  to  each  other;  but 
had  I  known  that  he  loved  rhyme  as  much  as  you  tell  me  he 
does,  I  should  have  hugged  him.' 

'Idleness  is  a  disease  which  must  be  combated;  but  I 
would  not  advise  a  rigid  adherence  to  a  particular  plan  of 
study.  I  myself  have  never  persisted  in  any  plan  for  two 
days  together.  A  man  ought  to  read  just  as  inclination  leads 
him;   for  what  he  reads  as  a  task  will  do  him  little  good. 


112  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  ii76S 

A  young  man  should  read  five  hours  in  a  day,  and  so  may 
acquire  a  great  deal  of  knowledge.' 

To  such  a  degree  of  unrestrained  frankness  had  he  now 
accustomed  me,  that  in  the  course  of  this  evening  I  talked  of 
the  numerous  reflections  which  had  been  thrown  out  against 
him  on  account  of  his  having  accepted  a  pension  from  his 
present  Majesty.  'Why,  Sir,  (said  he,  with  a  hearty  laugh,) 
it  is  a  mighty  foolish  noise  that  they  make.^  I  have  accepted 
of  a  pension  as  a  reward  which  has  been  thought  due  to  my 
literary  merit;  and  now  that  I  have  this  pension,  I  am  the 
same  man  in  every  respect  that  I  have  ever  been ;  I  retain  the 
same  principles.  It  is  true,  that  I  cannot  now  curse  (smiling) 
the  House  of  Hanover;  nor  would  it  be  decent  for  me  to 
drink  King  James's  health  in  the  wine  that  King  George 
gives  me  money  to  pay  for.  But,  Sir,  I  think  that  the  plea- 
sure of  cursing  the  House  of  Hanover,  and  drinking  King 
James's  health,  are  amply  overbalanced  by  three  hundred 
pounds  a  year.' 

There  was  here,  most  certainly,  an  affectation  of  more 
Jacobitism  than  he  really  had.  Yet  there  is  no  doubt  that 
at  earlier  periods  he  was  wont  often  to  exercise  both  his 
pleasantry  and  ingenuity  in  talking  Jacobitism.  My  much 
respected  friend,  Dr.  Douglas,  now  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  has 
favoured  me  with  the  following  admirable  instance  from  his 
Lordship's  own  recollection.  One  day,  when  dining  at  old 
Mr.  Langton's  where  Miss  Roberts,  his  niece,  was  one  of 
the  company,  Johnson,  with  his  usual  complacent  attention 
to  the  fair  sex,  took  her  by  the  hand  and  said,  'My  dear, 
I  hope  you  are  a  Jacobite.'  Old  Mr.  Langton,  who,  though 
a  high  and  steady  Tory,  was  attached  to  the  present  Royal 
Family,  seemed  offended,  and  asked  Johnson,  with  great 
warmth,  what  he  could  mean  by  putting  such  a  question  to 
his  niece?  'Why,  Sir,  (said  Johnson)  I  meant  no  offence 
to  your  niece,  I  meant  her  a  great  compliment.  A  Jacobite, 
Sir,  believes  in  the  divine  right  of  Kings.  He  that  believes 
in  the  divine  right  of  Kings  believes  in  a  Divinity.    A 

'  When  I  mentioned  the  same  idle  clamour  to  him  several  years 
afterwards,  he  said,  with  a  smile,  'I  wish  my  pension  were  twice  as 
large,  that  they  might  make  twice  as  much  noise.' — Boswell. 


17631  HIS  JACOBITISM  113 

Jacobite  believes  in  the  divine  right  of  Bishops.  He  that 
believes  in  the  divine  right  of  Bishops  believes  in  the  divine 
authority  of  the  Christian  religion.  Therefore,  Sir,  a  Jaco- 
bite is  neither  an  Atheist  nor  a  Deist.  That  cannot  be  said 
of  a  Whig;   for  Whiggism  is  a  negation  of  all  principle^.' 

He  advised  me,  when  abroad,  to  be  as  much  as  I  could 
with  the  Professors  in  the  Universities,  and  with  the  Clergy; 
for  from  their  conversation  I  might  expect  the  best  accounts 
of  every  thing  in  whatever  country  I  should  be,  with  the 
additional  advantage  of  keeping  my  learning  alive. 

It  will  be  observed,  that  when  giving  me  advice  as  to  my 
travels.  Dr.  Johnson  did  not  dwell  upon  cities,  and  palaces, 
and  pictures,  and  shows,  and  Arcadian  scenes.  He  was  of 
Lord  Essex's  opinion,  who  advises  his  kinsman  Roger  Earl 
of  Rutland,  'rather  to  go  an  hundred  miles  to  speak  with 
one  wise  man,  than  five  miles  to  see  a  fair  town.' 

I  described  to  him  an  impudent  fellow  from  Scotland,  who 
affected  to  be  a  savage,  and  railed  at  all  established  systems. 
Johnson.  'There  is  nothing  surprizing  in  this.  Sir.  He 
wants  to  make  himself  conspicuous.  He  would  tumble  in 
a  hogstye,  as  long  as  you  looked  at  him  and  called  to  him  to 
come  out.  But  let  him  alone,  never  mind  him,  and  he'll 
soon  give  it  over.' 

I  added,  that  the  same  person  maintained  that  there  was 
no  distinction  between  virtue  and  vice.  Johnson.  'Why, 
Sir,  if  the  fellow  does  not  think  as  he  speaks,  he  is  lying; 
and  I  see  not  what  honour  he  can  propose  to  himself  from 
having  the  character  of  a  lyar.  But  if  he  does  really  think 
that  there  is  no  distinction  between  virtue  and  vice,  why, 
Sir,  when  he  leaves  our  houses  let  us  count  our  spoons.' 

He  recommended  to  me  to  keep  a  journal  of  my  life,  full 
and  unreserved.  He  said  it  would  be  a  very  good  exercise, 
and  would  yield  me  great  satisfaction  when  the  particulars 

>  He  used  to  tell,  with  great  humour,  from  my  relation  to  him,  the 
following  little  story  of  my  early  years,  which  was  literally  true :  '  Bos- 
well,  in  the  year  1745,  was  a  fine  boy,  wore  a  white  cockade,  and 
prayed  for  King  James,  till  one  of  his  uncles  (General  Cochran)  gave 
him  a  shilling  on  condition  that  he  should  pray  for  King  George, 
which  he  accordingly  did.  So  you  see  (says  Boswell)  that  Whigs  of 
all  ages  are  made  the  tame  way.' — Boswell. 


114  LIFE   OF   DR.   JOHNSON  [i763 

were  faded  from  my  remembrance.  I  was  uncommonly 
fortunate  in  having  had  a  previous  coincidence  of  opinion 
with  him  upon  this  subject,  for  I  had  kept  such  a  journal 
for  some  time;  and  it  was  no  small  pleasure  to  me  to  have 
this  to  tell  him,  and  to  receive  his  approbation.  He  coun- 
selled me  to  keep  it  private,  and  said  I  might  surely  have 
a  friend  who  would  burn  it  in  case  of  my  death.  From  this 
habit  I  have  been  enabled  to  give  the  world  so  many  anec- 
dotes, which  would  otherwise  have  been  lost  to  posterity.  I 
mentioned  that  I  was  afraid  I  put  into  my  journal  too  many 
little  incidents.  Johnson.  "There  is  nothing.  Sir,  too  little 
for  so  little  a  creature  as  man.  It  is  by  studying  little  things 
that  we  attain  the  great  art  of  having  as  little  misery  and  as 
much  happiness  as  possible.' 

Next  morning  Mr.  Dempster  happened  to  call  on  me,  and 
was  so  much  struck  even  with  the  imperfect  account  which 
I  gave  him  of  Dr.  Johnson's  conversation,  that  to  his  honour 
be  it  recorded,  when  I  complained  that  drinking  port  and 
sitting  up  late  with  him  affected  my  nerves  for  some  time 
after,  he  said,  'One  had  better  be  palsied  at  eighteen  than 
not  keep  company  with  such  a  man.' 

On  Tuesday,  July  18,  I  found  tall  Sir  Thomas  Robinson 
sitting  with  Johnson.  Sir  Thomas  said,  that  the  king  of 
Prussia  valued  himself  upon  three  things; — upon  being  a 
hero,  a  musician,  and  an  authour.  Johnson.  'Pretty  well, 
Sir,  for  one  man.  As  to  his  being  an  authour,  I  have  not 
looked  at  his  poetry;  but  his  prose  is  poor  stuff.  He  writes 
just  as  you  might  suppose  Voltaire's  footboy  to  do,  who  has 
been  his  amanuensis.  He  has  such  parts  as  the  valet  might 
have,  and  about  as  much  of  the  colouring  of  the  style  as 
might  be  got  by  transcribing  his  works.'  When  I  was  at 
Ferney,  I  repeated  this  to  Voltaire,  in  order  to  reconcile  him 
somewhat  to  Johnson,  whom  he,  in  affecting  the  English 
mode  of  expression,  had  previously  characterised  as  'a  super- 
stitious dog;'  but  after  hearing  such  a  criticism  on  Fred- 
erick the  Great,  with  whom  he  was  then  on  bad  terms,  he 
exclaimed,  'An  honest  fellow!' 

Mr.  Levet  this  day  shewed  me  Dr.  Johnson's  library, 
which  was  contained  in  two  garrets  over  his  Chambers,  where 


1763]  JOURNAL-KEEPING  115 

Lintot,  son  of  the  celebrated  bookseller  of  that  name,  had 
formerly  his  warehouse.  I  found  a  number  of  good  books, 
but  very  dusty  and  in  great  confusion.  The  floor  was 
strewed  with  manuscript  leaves,  in  Johnson's  own  hand- 
writing, which  I  beheld  with  a  degree  of  veneration,  sup- 
posing they  perhaps  might  contain  portions  of  The  Rambler 
or  of  Rasselas.  I  observed  an  apparatus  for  chymical  ex- 
periments, of  which  Johnson  was  all  his  life  very  fond.  The 
place  seemed  to  be  verj"^  favourable  for  retirement  and  medi- 
tation. Johnson  told  me,  that  he  went  up  thither  without 
mentioning  it  to  his  servant,  when  he  wanted  to  study, 
secure  from  interruption ;  for  he  would  not  allow  his  servant 
to  say  he  was  not  at  home  when  he  really  was.  'A  servant's 
strict  regard  for  truth,  (said  he)  must  be  weakened  by  such 
a  practice.  A  philosopher  may  know  that  it  is  merely  a 
form  of  denial;  but  few  servants  are  such  nice  distinguishers. 
If  I  accustom  a  servant  to  tell  a  lie  for  me,  have  I  not  reason 
to  apprehend  that  he  will  tell  many  lies  for  himself.' 

Mr.  Temple,  now  vicar  of  St.  Gluvias,  Cornwall,  who  had 
been  my  intimate  friend  for  many  years,  had  at  this  time 
chambers  in  Farrar's-buildings,  at  the  bottom  of  Inner 
Temple-lane,  which  he  kindly  lent  me  upon  my  quitting  my 
lodgings,  he  being  to  return  to  Trinity  Hall,  Cambridge. 
I  found  them  particularly  convenient  for  me,  as  they  were 
so  near  Dr.  Johnson's. 

On  Wednesday,  July  20,  Dr.  Johnson,  Mr.  Dempster,  and 
my  uncle  Dr.  Boswell,  who  happened  to  be  now  in  London, 
supped  with  me  at  these  Chambers.  Johnson.  '  Pity  is  not 
natural  to  man.  Children  are  always  cruel.  Savages  are 
always  cruel.  Pity  is  acquired  and  improved  by  the  culti- 
vation of  reason.  We  may  have  uneasy  sen-sations  from 
seeing  a  creature  in  distress,  without  pity;  for  we  have  not 
pity  unless  we  wish  to  relieve  them.  When  I  am  on  my 
way  to  dine  with  a  friend,  and  finding  it  late,  have  bid  the 
coachman  make  haste,  if  I  happen  to  attend  when  he  %vhips 
his  horses,  I  may  feel  unpleasantly  that  the  animals  are  put 
to  pain,  but  I  do  not  wish  him  to  desist.  No,  Sir,  I  wish  him 
to  drive  on.' 

Rousseau's  treatise  on  the  inequality  of  mankind  was  at 


116  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i763 

this  time  a  fashionable  topick.  It  gave  rise  to  an  observa- 
tion by  Mr.  Dempster,  that  the  advantages  of  fortune  and 
rank  were  nothing  to  a  wise  man,  who  ought  to  value  only- 
merit.  Johnson.  'If  man  were  a  savage,  living  in  the 
woods  by  himself,  this  might  be  true;  but  in  civilized  society 
we  all  depend  upon  each  other,  and  our  happiness  is  very 
much  owing  to  the  good  opinion  of  mankind.  Now,  Sir,  in 
civilized  society,  external  advantages  make  us  more  respected. 
A  man  with  a  good  coat  upon  his  back  meets  with  a  better 
reception  than  he  who  has  a  bad  one.  Sir,  you  may  analyse 
this,  and  say  what  is  there  in  it?  But  that  will  avail  you 
nothing,  for  it  is  a  part  of  a  general  system.  Pound  St. 
Paul's  Church  into  atoms,  and  consider  any  single  atom; 
it  is,  to  be  sure,  good  for  nothing:  but,  put  all  these  atoms 
together,  and  you  have  St.  Paul's  Church.  So  it  is  with 
human  felicity,  which  is  made  up  of  many  ingredients,  each 
of  which  may  be  shewn  to  be  very  insignificant.  In  civilized 
society,  personal  merit  will  not  serve  you  so  much  as  money 
will.  Sir,  you  may  make  the  experiment.  Go  into  the  street, 
and  give  one  man  a  lecture  on  morality,  and  another  a  shil- 
ling, and  see  which  will  respect  you  most.  If  you  wish  only 
to  support  nature,  Sir  William  Petty  fixes  your  allowance  at 
three  pounds  a  year;  but  as  times  are  much  altered,  let  us 
call  it  six  pounds.  This  sum  will  fill  your  belly,  shelter  you 
from  the  weather,  and  even  get  you  a  strong  lasting  coat, 
supposing  it  to  be  made  of  good  bull's  hide.  Now,  Sir,  all 
beyond  this  is  artificial,  and  is  desired  in  order  to  obtain 
a  greater  degree  of  respect  from  our  fellow-creatures.  And, 
Sir,  if  six  hundred  pounds  a  year  procure  a  man  more  con- 
sequence, and,  of  course,  more  happiness  than  six  pounds 
a  year,  the  same  proportion  will  hold  as  to  six  thousand,  and 
so  on  as  far  as  opulence  can  be  carried.  Perhaps  he  who  has 
a  large  fortune  may  not  be  so  happy  as  he  who  has  a  small 
•one;  but  that  must  proceed  from  other  causes  than  from  his 
having  the  large  fortune:  for,  cceteris  paribus,  he  who  is 
rich  in  a  civilized  society,  must  be  happier  than  he  who  is 
poor;  as  riches,  if  properly  used,  (and  it  is  a  man's  own  fault 
if  they  are  not,)  must  be  productive  of  the  highest  advan- 
tages.    Money,  to  be  sure,  of  itself  is  of  no  use;  for  its  only 


1763]  ON  ROUSSEAU  117 

use  is  to  part  with  it.  Rousseau,  and  all  those  who  deal  in 
paradoxes,  are  led  away  bj'^  a  childish  desire  of  novelty. 
When  I  was  a  boy,  I  used  always  to  choose  the  wrong  side  of 
a  debate,  because  most  ingenious  things,  that  is  to  say, 
most  new  things,  could  be  said  upon  it.  Sir,  there  is  nothing 
for  which  you  may  not  muster  up  more  plausible  arguments, 
than  those  which  are  urged  against  wealth  and  other  external 
advantages.  Why,  now,  there  is  stealing;  why  should  it 
be  thought  a  crime?  \Mien  we  consider  by  what  unjust 
methods  property  has  been  often  acquired,  and  that  what 
was  unjustly  got  it  must  be  unjust  to  keep,  where  is  the 
harm  in  one  man's  taking  the  property  of  another  from  him? 
Besides,  Sir,  when  we  consider  the  bad  use  that  many  people 
make  of  their  property,  and  how  much  better  use  the  thief 
may  make  of  it,  it  may  be  defended  as  a  verj'  allowable  prac- 
tice. Yet,  Sir,  the  experience  of  mankind  has  discovered 
stealing  to  be  so  very  bad  a  thing,  that  they  make  no  scruple 
to  hang  a  man  for  it.  When  I  was  running  about  this  town 
a  ver>'  poor  fellow,  I  was  a  great  arguer  for  the  advantages 
of  poverty;  but  I  was,  at  the  same  time,  very  sorry  to  be 
poor.  Sir,  all  the  arguments  which  are  brought  to  represent 
poverty  as  no  evil,  shew  it  to  be  evidently  a  great  evil.  You 
never  find  people  labouring  to  convince  you  that  you  may 
live  very  happily  upon  a  plentiful  fortune. — So  you  hear  peo- 
ple talking  how  miserable  a  King  must  be;  and  yet  they  all 
wish  to  be  in  his  place.' 

It  was  suggested  that  Kings  must  be  unhappy,  because 
thej^  are  deprived  of  the  greatest  of  all  satisfactions,  easy 
and  unreserved  society.  Johnson.  'That  is  an  ill-founded 
notion.  Being  a  King  does  not  exclude  a  man  from  sucb 
society.  Great  Kings  have  always  been  social.  The  King: 
of  Prussia,  the  only  great  King  at  present,  is  very  social. 
Charles  the  Second,  the  last  King  of  England  who  was  a 
man  of  parts,  was  social;  and  our  Henrys  and  Edwards  were, 
all  social.'  / 

Mr.  Dempster  having  endeavoured  to  maintain  that  in-' 
trinsick  merit  ought  to  make  the  only  distinction  amongst 
mankind.  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  mankind  have  found  that 
this  cannot  be.    How  shall  we  determine  the  proportion  of 


118  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  11763 

intrinsick  merit?  Were  that  to  be  the  only  distinction 
amongst  mankind,  we  should  soon  quarrel  about  the  degrees 
of  it.  Were  all  distinctions  abolished,  the  strongest  would 
not  long  acquiesce,  but  would  endeavour  to  obtain  a  superi- 
ority by  their  bodily  strength.  But,  Sir,  as  subordination 
is  very  necessary  for  society,  and  contentions  for  superiority 
very  dangerous,  mankind,  that  is  to  say,  all  civilized  nations, 
have  settled  it  upon  a  plain  invariable  principle.  A  man  is 
born  to  hereditary  rank;  or  his  being  appointed  to  certain 
offices,  gives  him  a  certain  rank.  Subordination  tends 
greatly  to  human  happiness.  Were  we  all  upon  an  equality, 
we  should  have  no  other  enjoyment  than  mere  animal 
pleasure.' 

He  took  care  to  guard  himself  against  any  possible  sus- 
picion that  his  settled  principles  of  reverence  for  rank  and 
respect  for  wealth  were  at  all  owing  to  mean  or  interested 
motives;  for  he  asserted  his  own  independence  as  a  literary 
man.  'No  man  (said  he)  who  ever  lived  by  literature,  has 
lived  more  independently  than  I  have  done.'  He  said  he 
had  taken  longer  time  than  he  needed  to  have  done  in  com- 
posing his  Dictionary.  He  received  our  compliments  upon 
that  great  work  with  complacency,  and  told  us  that  the 
Academia  della  Crusca  could  scarcely  believe  that  it  was 
done  by  one  man. 

At  night  ^  Mr.  Johnson  and  I  supped  in  a  private  room  at 
the  Turk's  Head  coffee-house,  in  the  Strand.  'I  encourage 
this  house  (said  he;)  for  the  mistress  of  it  is  a  good  civil 
woman,  and  has  not  much  business.' 

'Sir,  I  love  the  acquaintance  of  young  people;  because, 
in  the  first  place,  I  don't  like  to  think  myself  growing  old. 
In  the  next  place,  young  acquaintances  must  last  longest,  if 
.they  do  last;  and  then.  Sir,  young  men  have  more  virtue 
than  old  men:  they  have  more  generous  sentiments  in  every 
respect.  I  love  the  young  dogs  of  this  age :  they  have  more 
wit  and  humour  and  knowledge  of  life  than  we  had ;  but  then 
the  dogs  are  not  so  good  scholars.  Sir,  in  my  early  years 
I  read  very  hard.  It  is  a  sad  reflection,  but  a  true  one,  that 
I  knew  almost  as  much  at  eighteen  as  I  do  now.  My  judge- 
«July  21. 


17631  RESPECT  FOR  RANK  119 

ment,  to  be  sure,  was  not  so  good;  but  I  had  all  the  facts. 
I  remember  very  well,  when  I  was  at  Oxford,  an  old  gentle- 
man said  to  me,  "Young  man,  ply  your  book  diligently  now, 
and  acquire  a  stock  of  knowledge;  for  when  years  come 
upon  you,  you  will  find  that  poring  uf)on  books  will  be  but 
an  irksome  task.'" 

He  again  insisted  on  the  duty  of  maintaining  subordina- 
tion of  rank.  'Sir,  I  would  no  more  deprive  a  nobleman  of 
his  respect,  than  of  his  money.  I  consider  myself  as  acting 
a  part  in  the  great  system  of  society,  and  I  do  to  others  as 
I  would  have  them  to  do  to  me.  I  would  behave  to  a  noble- 
man as  I  should  expect  he  would  behave  to  me,  were  I  a 
nobleman  and  he  Sam.  Johnson.  Sir,  there  is  one  Mrs. 
Macaulay^  in  this  town,  a  great  republican.  One  day  when 
I  was  at  her  house,  I  put  on  a  very  grave  countenance,  and 
said  to  her,  "Madam,  I  am  now  become  a  convert  to  your 
way  of  thinking.  I  am  convinced  that  all  mankind  are  upon 
an  equal  footing;  and  to  give  you  an  unquestionable  proof. 
Madam,  that  I  am  in  earnest,  here  is  a  very  sensible,  civil, 
well-behaved  fellow-citizen,  your  footman;  I  desire  that  he 
may  be  allowed  to  sit  down  and  dine  with  us."  I  thus.  Sir, 
shewed  her  the  absurdity  of  the  levellmg  doctrine.  She  has 
never  liked  me  since.  Sir,  your  levellers  wish  to  level  dovm 
as  far  as  themselves;  but  they  cannot  bear  levelling  up  to 
themselves.  They  would  all  have  some  people  under  them; 
why  not  then  have  some  people  above  them  ? '  I  mentioned 
a  certain  authour  who  disgusted  me  by  his  forwardness,  and 
by  shewing  no  deference  to  noblemen  into  whose  company  he 
was  admitted.  Johnson,  'Suppose  a  shoemaker  should 
claim  an  equality  with  him,  as  he  does  with  a  Lord;  how 
he  would  stare.  "Why,  Sir,  do  you  stare?  (says  the  shoe- 
maker,) I  do  great  service  to  society.  'Tis  true  I  am  paid 
for  doing  it;  but  so  are  you,  Sir:  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  it, 
paid  better  than  I  am,  for  doing  something  not  so  necessary. 
For  mankind  could  do  better  without  your  books,  than  with- 
out my  shoes."    Thus,   Sir,   there  would  be  a  perpetual 

'  This  one  Mrs.  Macaulay  was  the  same  personage  who  afterwards 
made  herself  so  much  known  as  'the  celebrated  female  historian.' — 

BOSWELL. 


120  LIFE   OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [i763 

struggle  for  precedence,  were  there  no  fixed  invariable  rules 
for  the  distinction  of  rank,  which  creates  no  jealousy,  as  it 
is  allowed  to  be  accidental.' 

He  said  he  would  go  to  the  Hebrides  with  me,  when  I 
returned  from  my  travels,  unless  some  very  good  companion 
should  offer  when  I  was  absent,  which  he  did  not  think  prob- 
able; adding,  'There  are  few  people  to  whom  I  take  so  much 
to  as  you.'  And  when  I  talked  of  my  leaving  England,  he 
said  with  a  very  affectionate  air,  '  My  dear  Boswell,  I  should 
be  very  unhappy  at  parting,  did  I  think  we  were  not  to  meet 
again.'  I  cannot  too  often  remind  my  readers,  that  although 
such  instances  of  his  kindness  are  doubtless  very  flattering 
to  me,  yet  I  hope  my  recording  them  will  be  ascribed  to  a 
better  motive  than  to  vanity;  for  they  afford  unquestionable 
evidence  of  his  tenderness  and  complacency,  which  some, 
while  they  were  forced  to  acknowledge  his  great  powers, 
have  been  so  strenuous  to  deny. 

He  maintained  that  a  boy  at  school  was  the  happiest  of 
human  beings.  I  supported  a  different  opinion,  from  which 
I  have  never  yet  varied,  that  a  man  is  happier;  and  I  en- 
larged upon  the  anxiety  and  sufferings  which  are  endured  at 
school.  Johnson.  '  Ah !  Sir,  a  boy's  being  flogged  is  not  so 
severe  as  a  man's  having  the  hiss  of  the  world  against  him.' 

On  Tuesday,  July  26,  I  found  Mr.  Johnson  alone.  It  was 
a  very  wet  day,  and  I  again  complained  of  the  disagreeable 
effects  of  such  weather.  Johnson.  '  Sir,  this  is  all  imagina- 
tion, which  physicians  encourage;  for  man  lives  in  air,  as 
a  fish  lives  in  water;  so  that  if  the  atmosphere  press  heavy 
from  above,  there  is  an  equal  resistance  from  below.  To  be 
sure,  bad  weather  is  hard  upon  people  who  are  obliged  to  be 
abroad;  and  men  cannot  labour  so  well  in  the  open  air  in 
bad  weather,  as  in  good:  but,  Sir,  a  smith  or  a  taylor,  whose 
work  is  within  doors,  will  surely  do  as  much  in  rainy  weather, 
as  in  fair.  Some  very  delicate  frames,  indeed,  may  be 
affected  by  wet  weather;  but  not  common  constitutions.' 

We  talked  of  the  education  of  children;  and  I  asked  him 
what  he  thought  was  best  to  teach  them  first.  Johnson. 
'Sir,  it  is  no  matter  what  you  teach  them  first,  any  more 
than  what  leg  you  shall  put  into  your  breeches  first.     Sir, 


1763]  OPINION  ON  SWIFT  121 

you  may  stand  disputing  which  is  best  to  put  in  first,  but  in 
the  mean  time  your  breech  is  bare.  Sir,  while  you  are  con- 
sidering which  of  two  things  you  should  teach  your  child 
first,  another  boy  has  learnt  them  both.' 

On  Thursday,  July  28,  we  again  supped  in  private  at  the 
Turk's  Head  coffee-house.  Johnson.  'Swift  has  a  higher 
reputation  than  he  deserves.  His  excellence  is  strong  sense; 
for  his  humour,  though  very  well,  is  not  remarkably  good. 
I  doubt  whether  The  Tale  of  a  Tub  be  his;  for  he  never 
owned  it,  and  it  is  much  above  his  usual  manner.' 

'Thomson,  I  think,  had  as  much  of  the  poet  about  him 
as  most  writers.  Every  thing  appeared  to  him  through  the 
medium  of  his  favourite  pursuit.  He  could  not  have  viewed 
those  two  candles  burning  but  with  a  poetical  eye.' 

'  As  to  the  Christian  religion.  Sir,  besides  the  strong  evi- 
dence which  we  have  for  it,  there  is  a  balance  in  its  favour 
from  the  number  of  great  men  who  have  been  convinced  of 
its  truth,  after  a  serious  consideration  of  the  question.  Gro- 
tius  was  an  acute  man,  a  lawyer,  a  man  accustomed  to  ex- 
amine evidence,  and  he  was  convinced.  Grotius  was  not  a 
recluse,  but  a  man  of  the  world,  who  certainly  had  no  bias 
to  the  side  of  religion.  Sir  Isaac  Newton  set  out  an  infidel, 
and  came  to  be  a  very  firm  believer.' 

He  this  evening  recommended  to  me  to  perambulate 
Spain.  I  said  it  would  amuse  him  to  get  a  letter  from  me 
dated  at  Salamancha.  Johnson.  '  I  love  the  University  of 
Salamancha;  for  when  the  Spaniards  were  in  doubt  as  to 
the  lawfulness  of  their  conquering  America,  the  University 
of  Salamancha  gave  it  as  their  opinion  that  it  was  not  law- 
ful.' He  spoke  this  with  great  emotion,  and  with  that  gen- 
erous warmth  which  dictated  the  lines  in  his  London,  against 
Spanish  encroachment. 

I  expressed  my  opinion  of  my  friend  Derrick  as  but  a  poor 
writer.  Johnson.  'To  be  sure.  Sir,  he  is;  but  you  are  to 
consider  that  his  being  a  literary  man  has  got  for  him  all  that 
he  has.  It  has  made  him  King  of  Bath.  Sir,  he  has  nothing 
to  say  for  himself  but  that  he  is  a  writer.  Had  he  not  been 
a  writer,  he  must  have  been  sweeping  the  crossings  in  the 
streets,  and  asking  halfpence  from  every  body  that  past.' 


122  LIFE   OF   DR.   JOHNSON  [i763 

In  justice,  however,  to  the  memory  of  Mr,  Derrick,  who 
was  my  first  tutor  in  the  ways  of  London,  and  shewed  me  the 
town  in  all  its  variety  of  departments,  both  literary  and 
sportive,  the  particulars  of  which  Dr.  Johnson  advised  me  to 
put  in  writing,  it  is  proper  to  mention  what  Johnson,  at  a 
subsequent  period,  said  of  him  both  as  a  writer  and  an 
editor:  'Sir,  I  have  often  said,  that  if  Derrick's  letters  had 
been  written  by  one  of  a  more  established  name,  they  would 
have  been  thought  very  pretty  letters.'  And,  'I  sent 
Derrick  to  Dryden's  relations  to  gather  materials  for 
his  life;  and  I  believe  he  got  all  that  I  myself  should  have 
got.' 

Johnson  said  once  to  me,  'Sir,  I  honour  Derrick  for  his 
presence  of  mind.  One  night,  when  Floyd,  another  poor 
authour,  was  wandering  about  the  streets  in  the  night,  he 
found  Derrick  fast  asleep  upon  a  bulk;  upon  being  sud- 
denly waked,  Derrick  started  up,  "My  dear  Floyd,  I  am 
sorry  to  see  you  in  this  destitute  state;  will  you  go  home 
with  me  to  my  lodgings  f" 

I  again  begged  his  advice  as  to  my  method  of  study  at 
Utrecht.  'Come,  (said  he)  let  us  make  a  day  of  it.  Let  us 
go  down  to  Greenwich  and  dine,  and  talk  of  it  there.'  The 
following  Saturday  was  fixed  for  this  excursion. 

As  we  walked  along  the  Strand  to-night,  arm  in  arm, 
a  woman  of  the  town  accosted  us,  in  the  usual  enticing 
manner.  'No,  no,  my  girl,  (said  Johnson)  it  won't  do.' 
He,  however,  did  not  treat  her  with  harshness,  and  we  talked 
of  the  wretched  life  of  such  women;  and  agreed,  that  much 
more  misery  than  happiness,  upon  the  whole,  is  produced 
by  illicit  commerce  between  the  sexes. 

On  Saturday,  July  30,  Dr.  Johnson  and  I  took  a  sculler 
at  the  Temple-stairs,  and  set  out  for  Greenwich.  I  asked 
him  if  he  really  thought  a  knowledge  of  the  Greek  and  Latin 
languages  an  essential  requisite  to  a  good  education.  John- 
son. 'Most  certainly.  Sir;  for  those  who  know  them  have 
a  very  great  advantage  over  those  who  do  not.  Nay,  Sir, 
it  is  wonderful  what  a  difference  learning  makes  upon  people 
even  in  the  common  intercourse  of  life,  which  does  not  ap- 
pear to  be  much  connected  with  it.'     'And  yet,   (said  I) 


1763]  A  DAY  AT  GREENWICH  123 

people  go  through  the  world  very  well,  and  carry  on  the  busi- 
ness of  life  to  good  advantage,  without  learning.'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  that  may  be  true  in  cases  where  learning  cannot 
p)Ossibly  be  of  any  use;  for  instance,  this  boy  rows  us  as  weU, 
without  learning,  as  if  he  could  sing  the  song  of  Orpheus  to 
the  Argonauts,  who  were  the  first  sailors.'  He  then  called 
to  the  boy,  'What  would  you  give,  my  lad,  to  know  about 
the  Argonauts?'  'Sir,  (said  the  boy,)  I  would  give  what  I 
have.'  Johnson  was  much  pleased  with  his  answer,  and  we 
gave  him  a  double  fare.  Dr.  Johnson  then  turning  to  me, 
'  Sir,  (said  he)  a  desire  of  knowledge  is  the  natural  feeling  of 
mankind;  and  every  human  being,  whose  mind  is  not  de- 
bauched, will  be  willing  to  give  all  that  he  has  to  get  knowl- 
edge.' 

We  landed  at  the  Old  Swan,  and  walked  to  Billingsgate, 
where  we  took  oars,  and  moved  smoothly  along  the  silver 
Thames.  It  was  a  very  fine  day.  We  were  entertained  with 
.the  immense  number  and  variety  of  ships  that  were  lying  at 
anchor,  and  with  the  beautiful  country  on  each  side  of  the 
river. 

I  talked  of  preaching,  and  of  the  great  success  which  those 
called  Methodists  have.  Johnson.  '  Sir,  it  is  owing  to  their 
expressing  themselves  in  a  plain  and  familiar  manner,  which 
is  the  only  way  to  do  good  to  the  common  people,  and  which 
clergymen  of  genius  and  learning  ought  to  do  from  a  prin- 
ciple of  duty,  when  it  is  suited  to  their  congregations;  a 
practice,  for  which  they  will  be  praised  by  men  of  sense. 
To  insist  against  drunkenness  as  a  crime,  because  it  debases 
reason,  the  noblest  faculty  of  man,  would  be  of  no  service  to 
the  common  people:  but  to  tell  them  that  they  may  die  in 
a  fit  of  drunkenness,  and  shew  them  how  dreadful  that 
would  be,  cannot  fail  to  make  a  deep  impression.  Sir,  when 
your  Scotch  clergy  give  up  their  homely  manner,  rdigion 
will  soon  decay  in  that  country.'  Let  this  observation,  as 
Johnson  meant  it,  be  ever  remembered. 

I  was  much  pleased  to  find  myself  with  Johnson  at  Green- 
wich, which  he  celebrates  in  his  London  as  a  favourite  scene. 
I  had  the  poem  in  my  pocket,  and  read  the  lines  aloud  with 
enthusiasm:  "    ""     ' 


124  LIFE   OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i763 

'On  Thames's  banks  in  silent  thought  we  stood: 
Where  Greenwich  smiles  upon  the  silver  flood : 
Pleas'd  with  the  seat  which  gave  Eliza  birth, 
We  kneel,  and  kiss  the  consecrated  earth.' 

Afterwards  he  entered  upon  the  business  of  the  day,  which 
was  to  give  me  his  advice  as  to  a  course  of  study. 

We  walked  in  the  evening  in  Greenwich  Park.  He  asked 
me,  I  suppose,  by  way  of  trying  my  disposition,  'Is  not  this 
very  fine?'  Having  no  exquisite  relish  of  the  beauties  of 
Nature,  and  being  more  delighted  with  'the  busy  hum  of 
men,'  I  answered,  'Yes,  Sir;  but  not  equal  to  Fleet-street.' 
Johnson.     'You  are  right.  Sir.' 

I  am  aware  that  many  of  my  readers  may  censure  my 
want  of  taste.  Let  me,  however,  shelter  myself  under  the 
authority  of  a  very  fashionable  Baronet  in  the  brilliant  world, 
who,  on  his  attention  being  called  to  the  fragrance  of  a  May 
evening  in  the  country,  observed,  'This  may  be  very  well; 
but,  for  my  part,  I  prefer  the  smell  of  a  flambeau  at  the  play- 
house.' 

We  staid  so  long  at  Greenwich,  that  our  sail  up  the  river, 
in  our  return  to  London,  was  by  no  means  so  pleasant  as  in 
the  morning;  for  the  night  air  was  so  cold  that  it  made  me 
shiver.  I  was  the  more  sensible  of  it  from  having  sat  up 
all  the  night  before,  recollecting  and  writing  in  my  journal 
what  I  thought  worthy  of  preservation;  an  exertion,  which, 
during  the  first  part  of  my  acquaintance  with  Johnson,  I 
frequently  made.  I  remember  having  sat  up  four  nights  in 
one  week,  without  being  much  incommoded  in  the  day  time. 

Johnson,  whose  robust  frame  was  not  in  the  least  affected 
by  the  cold,  scolded  me,  as  if  my  shivering  had  been  a  pal- 
try effeminacy,  saying,  'Why  do  you  shiver?'  Sir  William 
Scott,  of  the  Commons,  told  me,  that  when  he  complained 
of  a  head-ache  in  the  post-chaise,  as  they  were  travelling  to- 
gether to  Scotland,  Johnson  treated  him  in  the  same  manner: 
'At  your  age.  Sir,  I  had  no  head-ache.' 

We  concluded  the  day  at  the  Turk's  Head  coffee-house 
very  socially.  He  was  pleased  to  listen  to  a  particular  ac- 
count which  I  gave  him  of  my  family,  and  of  its  hereditary 


17631  A  WOMAN'S  PREACHING  125 

estate,  as  to  the  extent  and  population  of  which  he  asked 
questions,  and  made  calculations;  recommending,  at  the 
same  time,  a  liberal  kindness  to  the  tenantry,  as  people  over 
whom  the  proprietor  was  placed  by  Providence.  He  took 
delight  in  hearing  my  description  of  the  romantick  seat  of 
my  ancestors.  'I  must  be  there,  Sir,  (said  he)  and  we  will 
live  in  the  old  castle;  and  if  there  is  not  a  room  in  it  re- 
maining, we  will  build  one.'  I  was  highly  flattered,  but  could 
scarcely  indulge  a  hope  that  Auchinleck  would  indeed  be 
honoured  by  his  presence,  and  celebrated  by  a  description, 
as  it  afterwards  was,  in  his  Journey  to  the  Western  Islands. 

After  we  had  again  talked  of  my  setting  out  for  Holland, 
he  said,  'I  must  see  thee  out  of  England;  I  will  accompany 
you  to  Harwich.'  I  could  not  find  words  to  express  what  I 
felt  upon  this  unexpected  and  very  great  mark  of  his  affec- 
tionate regard. 

Next  day,  Sunday,  July  31,  I  told  him  I  had  been  that 
morning  at  a  meeting  of  the  people  called  Quakers,  where 
I  had  heard  a  woman  preach.  Johnson.  'Sir,  a  woman's 
preaching  is  like  a  dog's  walking  on  his  hinder  legs.  It  is 
not  done  well;  but  you  are  surprized  to  find  it  done  at  all.' 

On  Tuesday,  August  2  (the  day  of  my  departure  from 
London  having  been  fixed  for  the  5th,)  Dr.  Johnson  did  me 
the  honour  to  pass  a  part  of  the  morning  with  me  at  my 
Chambers.  He  said,  that  'he  always  felt  an  inclination  to 
do  nothing.'  I  observed,  that  it  was  strange  to  think  that 
the  most  indolent  man  in  Britain  had  written  the  most 
laborious  work.  The  English  Dictionary. 

I  had  now  made  good  my  title  to  be  a  privileged  man, 
and  was  carried  by  him  in  the  evening  to  drink  tea  A^ath 
Miss  Williams,  whom,  though  under  the  misfortune  of  having 
lost  her  sight,  I  found  to  be  agreeable  in  conversation;  for 
she  had  a  variety  of  literature,  and  expressed  herself  well; 
but  her  peculiar  value  was  the  intimacy  in  which  she  had 
long  lived  with  Johnson,  by  which  she  was  well  acquainted 
with  his  habits,  and  knew  how  to  lead  him  on  to  talk. 

After  tea  he  carried  me  to  what  he  called  his  walk,  which 
was  a  long  narrow  paved  court  in  the  neighbourhood,  over- 
shadowed by  some  trees.    There  we  sauntered  a  considera- 


126  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i763 

ble  time;  and  I  complained  to  him  that  my  love  of  London 
and  of  his  company  was  such,  that  I  shrunk  almost  from  the 
thought  of  going  away,  even  to  travel,  which  is  generally 
so  much  desired  by  young  men.  He  roused  me  by  manly 
and  spirited  conversation.  He  advised  me,  when  settled  in 
any  place  abroad,  to  study  with  an  eagerness  after  knowl- 
edge, and  to  apply  to  Greek  an  hour  every  day;  and  when  I 
was  moving  about,  to  read  diligently  the  great  book  of  man- 
kind. 

On  Wednesday',  August  3,  we  had  our  last  social  evening 
at  the  Turk's  Head  coffee-house,  before  my  setting  out  for 
foreign  parts.  I  had  the  misfortune,  before  we  parted,  to 
irritate  him  unintentionally.  I  mentioned  to  him  how  com- 
mon it  was  in  the  world  to  tell  absurd  stories  of  him,  and 
to  ascribe  to  him  very  strange  sayings.  Johnson.  'What 
do  they  make  me  say.  Sir?'  Boswell.  'Why,  Sir,  as  an 
instance  very  strange  indeed,  (laughing  heartily  as  I  spoke,) 
David  Hume  told  me,  you  said  that  you  would  stand  before 
a  battery  of  cannon,  to  restore  the  Convocation  to  its  full 
powers.'  Little  did  I  apprehend  that  he  had  actually  said 
this:  but  I  was  soon  convinced  of  my  errour;  for,  with  a 
determined  look,  he  thundered  out  'And  would  I  not,  Sir? 
Shall  the  Presbyterian  Kirk  of  Scotland  have  its  General 
Assembly,  and  the  Church  of  England  be  denied  its  Convo- 
cation?' He  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room  while  I 
told  him  the  anecdote;  but  when  he  uttered  this  explosion 
of  high-church  zeal,  he  had  come  close  to  my  chair,  and  his 
eyes  flashed  with  indignation.  I  bowed  to  the  storm,  and. 
diverted  the  force  of  it,  by  leading  him  to  expatiate  on  the 
influence  which  religion  derived  from  maintaining  the  church 
with  great  external  respectability. 

On  Friday,  August  5,  we  set  out  early  in  the  morning  in 
the  Harwich  stage  coach.  A  fat  elderly  gentlewoman,  and  a 
young  Dutchman,  seemed  the  most  inclined  among  us  to 
conversation.  At  the  inn  where  we  dined,  the  gentlewoman 
said  that  she  had  done  her  best  to  educate  her  children; 
and  particularly,  that  she  had  never  suffered  them  to  be  a 
moment  idle.  Johnson.  'I  wish,  madam,  you  would  edu- 
cate me  too;  for  I  have  been  an  idle  fellow  all  my  life.'     'I 


1763J  THE  HARWICH  STAGE  COACH  127 

am  sure,  Sir,  (said  she)  j'ou  have  not  been  idle.'  Johnson. 
'Nay,  Madam,  it  is  very  true;  and  that  gentleman  there 
(pointing  to  me,)  has  been  idle.  He  was  idle  at  Edinburgh. 
His  father  sent  him  to  Glasgow,  where  he  continued  to  be 
idle.  He  then  came  to  London,  where  he  has  been  very  idle; 
and  now  he  is  going  to  Utrecht,  where  he  will  be  as  idle  as 
ever.'  I  asked  him  privately  how  he  could  e.xpose  me  so. 
Johnson.  'Poh,  poh!  (said  he)  they  knew  nothing  about 
you,  and  will  think  of  it  no  more.'  In  the  afternoon  the 
gentlewoman  talked  \'iolently  against  the  Roman  CathoKcks, 
and  of  the  horrours  of  the  Inquisition.  To  the  utter  aston- 
ishment of  all  the  passengers  but  myself,  who  knew  that  he 
could  talk  upon  any  side  of  a  question,  he  defended  the 
Inquisition,  and  maintained,  that  'false  doctrine  should  be 
checked  on  its  first  appearance;  that  the  civil  power  should 
unite  with  the  church  in  punishing  those  who  dared  to  at- 
tack the  established  religion,  and  that  such  only  were  pun- 
ished by  the  Inquisition.'  He  had  in  his  pocket  Pomponiua 
Mela  de  situ  Orbis,  in  which  he  read  occasionally,  and  seemed 
ver>'  intent  upon  ancient  geography.  Though  by  no  means 
niggardly,  his  attention  to  what  was  generally  right  was  so 
minute,  that  having  observed  at  one  of  the  stages  that  I 
oi?tentatiously  gave  a  shilling  to  the  coachman,  when  the 
custom  was  for  each  passenger  to  give  only  six-pence,  he 
took  me  aside  and  scolded  me,  saying  that  what  I  had  done 
would  make  the  coachman  dissatisfied  with  all  the  rest  of 
the  passengers,  who  gave  him  no  more  than  his  due.  This 
was  a  just  reprimand;  for  in  whatever  way  a  man  may  in- 
dulge his  generosity  or  his  vanity  in  spending  his  money,  for 
the  sake  of  others  he  ought  not  to  raise  the  price  of  any 
article  for  which  there  is  a  constant  demand. 

At  supper  this  night  ^  he  talked  of  good  eating  with  un- 
common satisfaction.  '  Some  people  (said  he,)  have  a  foolish 
way  of  not  minding,  or  pretending  not  to  mind,  what  they 
eat.  For  my  part,  I  mind  my  belly  very  studiously,  and 
very  carefully;  for  I  look  upon  it,  that  he  who  does  not  mind 
his  belly  will  hardly  mind  anything  else.'  He  now  appeared 
to  me  Jean  Bull  philosophe,  and  he  was,  for  the  moment,  not 
'  At  Colchester. — ^Ed. 


128  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i763 

only  serious  but  vehement.  Yet  I  have  heard  him,  upon 
other  occasions,  talk  with  great  contempt  of  people  who 
were  anxious  to  gratify  their  palates;  and  the  206th  number 
of  his  Rambler  is  a  masterly  essay  against  gulosity.  His 
practice,  indeed,  I  must  acknowledge,  may  be  considered  as 
casting  the  balance  of  his  different  opinions  upon  this  sub- 
ject; for  I  never  knew  any  man  who  relished  good  eating 
more  than  he  did.  When  at  table,  he  was  totally  absorbed 
in  the  business  of  the  moment;  his  looks  seemed  ri vetted  to 
his  plate;  nor  would  he,  unless  when  in  very  high  company, 
say  one  word,  or  even  pay  the  least  attention  to  what  was  said 
by  others,  till  he  had  satisfied  his  appetite,  which  was  so 
fierce,  and  indulged  with  such  intenseness,  that  while  in  the 
act  of  eating,  the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelled,  and  gener- 
ally a  strong  perspiration  was  visible.  To  those  whose  sen- 
sations were  delicate,  this  could  not  but  be  disgusting;  and 
it  was  doubtless  not  very  suitable  to  the  character  of  a 
philosopher,  who  should  be  distinguished  by  self-command. 
But  it  must  be  owned,  that  Johnson,  though  he  could  be 
rigidly  abstemious,  was  not  a  temperate  man  either  in  eating 
or  drinking.  He  could  refrain,  but  he  could  not  use  moder- 
ately. He  told  me,  that  he  had  fasted  two  days  without 
inconvenience,  and  that  he  had  never  been  hungry  but  once. 
They  who  beheld  with  wonder  how  much  he  eat  upon  all 
occasions  when  his  dinner  was  to  his  taste,  could  not  easily 
conceive  what  he  must  have  meant  by  hunger;  and  not  only 
was  he  remarkable  for  the  extraordinary  quantity  which  he 
eat,  but  he  was,  or  affected  to  be,  a  man  of  very  nice  dis- 
cernment in  the  science  of  cookery.  He  used  to  descant 
critically  on  the  dishes  which  had  been  at  table  where  he  had 
dined  or  supped,  and  to  recollect  very  minutely  what  he  had 
liked.  I  remember,  when  he  was  in  Scotland,  his  praising 
'Gordon's  palates,'  (a  dish  of  palates  at  the  Honourable 
Alexander  Gordon's)  with  a  warmth  of  expression  which 
might  have  done  honour  to  more  important  subjects.  'As 
for  Maclaurin's  imitation  of  a  made  dish,  it  was  a  wretched 
attempt.'  He  about  the  same  time  was  so  much  displeased 
with  the  performances  of  a  nobleman's  French  cook,  that  he 
exclaimed  with  vehemence,  'I'd  throw  such  a  rascal  into  the 


1763]    LITTLE  WORDS  FOR  LITTLE  MATTERS    129 

river; '  and  he  then  proceeded  to  alarm  a  lady  at  whose  house 
he  was  to  sup,  by  the  following  manifesto  of  his  skill:  'I, 
Madam,  who  live  at  a  variety  of  good  tables,  am  a  much 
better  judge  of  cookery,  than  any  person  who  has  a  very 
tolerable  cook,  but  lives  much  at  home;  for  his  palate  is 
gradually  adapted  to  the  taste  of  his  cook;  whereas,  Madam, 
in  trying  by  a  wider  range,  I  can  more  exquisitely  judge.' 
When  invited  to  dine,  even  with  an  intimate  friend,  he  was 
not  pleased  if  something  better  than  a  plain  dinner  was  not 
prepared  for  him.  I  have  heard  him  say  on  such  an  occasion, 
'This  was  a  good  dinner  enough,  to  be  sure;  but  it  was  not 
a  dinner  to  ask  a  man  to.'  On  the  other  hand,  he  was  wont 
to  express,  with  great  glee,  his  satisfaction  when  he  had  been 
entertained  quite  to  his  mind.  One  day  when  we  had  dined 
with  his  neighbour  and  landlord  in  Bolt-court,  Mr.  Allen, 
the  printer,  whose  old  housekeeper  had  studied  his  taste  in 
every  thing,  he  pronounced  this  eulogy:  'Sir,  we  could  not 
have  had  a  better  dinner  had  there  been  a  Synod  of  Cooks.' 

While  we  were  left  by  ourselves,  after  the  Dutchman  had 
gone  to  bed.  Dr.  Johnson  talked  of  that  studied  behaviour 
which  many  have  recommended  and  practised.  He  disap- 
proved of  it;  and  said,  'I  never  considered  whether  I  should 
be  a  grave  man,  or  a  merry  man,  but  just  let  inclination,  for 
the  time,  have  its  course.' 

I  teized  him  with  fanciful  apprehensions  of  unhappiness. 
A  moth  having  fluttered  round  the  candle,  and  burnt  itself, 
he  laid  hold  of  this  little  incident  to  admonish  me;  saying, 
with  a  sly  look,  and  in  a  solemn  but  quiet  tone,  'That  crea- 
ture was  its  own  tormentor,  and  I  believe  its  name  was 

BOSWELL.' 

Next  day  we  got  to  Harwich  to  dinner;  and  my  passage 
in  the  packet-boat  to  Helvoetsluys  being  secured,  and  my 
baggage  put  on  board,  we  dined  at  our  inn  by  ourselves. 
I  happened  to  say  it  would  be  terrible  if  he  should  not  find 
a  speedy  opportunity  of  returning  to  London,  and  be  con- 
fined to  so  dull  a  place.  Johnson.  'Don't  Sir,  accustom 
yourself  to  use  big  words  for  little  matters.  It  would  not  be 
terrible,  though  I  toere  to  be  detained  some  time  here.' 

We  went  and  looked  at  the  church,  and  having  gone  into 


130  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [ires 

it  and  walked  up  to  the  altar,  Johnson,  whose  piety  was  con- 
stant and  fervent,  sent  me  to  my  knees,  saying,  'Now  that 
you  are  going  to  leave  your  native  country,  recommend 
yourself  to  the  protection  of  your  Creator  and  Redeemer.' 

After  we  came  out  of  the  church,  we  stood  talking  for  some 
time  together  of  Bishop  Berkeley's  ingenious-  sophistry  to 
prove  the  non-existence  of  matter,  and  that  every  thing  in 
the  universe  is  merely  ideal.  I  observed,  that  though  we  are 
satisfied  his  doctrine  is  not  true,  it  is  impossible  to  refute  it. 
I  never  shall  forget  the  alacrity  with  which  Johnson  an- 
swered, striking  his  foot  with  mighty  force  against  a  large 
stone,  till  he  rebounded  from  it,  'I  refute  it  thus.' 

My  revered  friend  walked  douii  with  me  to  the  beach, 
where  we  embraced  and  parted  with  tenderness,  and  en- 
gaged to  correspond  by  letters.  I  said,  'I  hope.  Sir,  you 
will  not  forget  me  in  my  absence.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir, 
it  is  more  likely  you  should  forget  me,  than  that  I  should 
forget  you.'  As  the  vessel  put  out  to  sea,  I  kept  my  eyes 
upon  him  for  a  considerable  time,  while  he  remained  rolling 
his  majestick  frame  in  his  usual  manner:  and  at  last  I  per- 
ceived him  walk  back  into  the  town,  and  he  disappeared. 

1764:  ^TAT.  55.] — Early  in  1764  Johnson  paid  a  visit  to 
the  Langton  family,  at  their  seat  of  Langton,  in  Lincolnshire, 
where  he  passed  some  time,  much  to  his  satisfaction.  His 
friend  Bennet  Langton,  it  will  not  be  doubted,  did  every 
thing  in  his  power  to  make  the  place  agreeable  to  so  illus- 
trious a  guest;  and  the  elder  Mr.  Langton  and  his  lady, 
being  fully  capable  of  understanding  his  value,  were  not 
wanting  in  attention. 

Johnson,  during  his  stay  at  Langton,  had  the  advantage 
of  a  good  library,  and  saw  several  gentlemen  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. I  have  obtained  from  Mr.  Langton  the  following 
particulars  of  this  period. 

He  was  now  fully  convinced  that  he  could  not  have  been 
satisfied  with  a  country  living;  for,  talking  of  a  respectable 
clergyman  in  Lincolnshire,  he  observed,  'This  man.  Sir,  fills 
up  the  duties  of  his  life  well.  I  approve  of  him,  but  could 
not  imitate  him.' 

To  a  lady  who  endeavoured  to  vindicate  herself  from 


1764]  THE  LITERARY  CLUB  131 

blame  for  neglecting  social  attention  to  worthy  neighbours, 
by  saying, '  I  would  go  to  them  if  it  would  do  them  any  good,' 
he  said,  'What  good,  Madam,  do  you  expect  to  have  m  your 
power  to  do  them?  It  is  shewing  them  respect,  and  that  is 
doing  them  good.' 

So  socially  accommodating  was  he,  that  once  when  Mr. 
Langton  and  he  were  driving  together  in  a  coach,  and  Mr. 
Langton  complained  of  being  sick,  he  insisted  that  they 
should  go  out  and  sit  on  the  back  of  it  in  the  open  air,  which 
they  did.  And  being  sensible  how  strange  the  appearance 
must  be,  observed,  that  a  countryman  whom  they  saw  in 
a  field,  would  probably  be  thinking,  'If  these  two  madmen 
should  come  down,  what  would  become  of  me?' 

Soon  after  his  return  to  London,  which  was  in  February, 
was  founded  that  Club  which  existed  long  without  a  name, 
but  at  Mr.  Garrick's  funeral  became  distinguished  by  the 
title  of  The  Literary  Club.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  had  the 
merit  of  being  the  first  proposer  of  it,  to  which  Johnson 
acceded,  and  the  original  members  were,  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, Dr.  Johnson,  Mr.  Edmund  Burke,  Dr.  Nugent,  Mr. 
Beauclerk,  Mr.  Langton,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  Mr.  Chamier,  and 
Sir  John  Hawkins.  They  met  at  the  Turk's  Head,  in  Ger- 
rard-street,  Soho,  one  evening  in  every  week,  at  seven,  and 
generally  continued  their  conversation  till  a  pretty  late  hour. 
This  club  has  been  gradually  increased  to  its  present  number, 
thirty-five.  After  about  ten  years,  instead  of  supping  weekly, 
it  was  resolved  to  dine  together  once  a  fortnight  during 
the  meeting  of  Parliament.  Their  original  tavern  having 
been  converted  into  a  private  house,  they  moved  first  to 
Prince's  in  Sackville-street,  then  to  Le  Teller's  in  Dover- 
street,  and  now  meet  at  Parsloe's,  St.  James's-street.  Be- 
tween the  time  of  its  formation,  and  the  time  at  which  this 
work  is  passing  through  the  press,  (June  1792,)  the  following 
persons,  now  dead,  were  members  of  it :  Mr.  Dunning,  (after- 
wards Lord  Ashburton,)  Mr.  Samuel  Dyer,  Mr.  Garrick, 
Dr.  Shipley  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph,  Mr.  Vesey,  Mr.  Thomas 
Warton  and  Dr.  Adam  Smith.  The  present  members  are, — 
Mr.  Burke,  Mr.  Langton,  Ix)rd  Charlemont,  Sir  Robert 
Chambers,    Dr.    Percy   Bishop   of   Dromore,  Dr.    Barnard 


132  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i764 

Bishop  of  Killaloe,  Dr.  Marlay  Bishop  of  Clonfert,  Mr.  Fox, 
Dr.  George  Fordyce,  Sir  Wilham  Scott,  Sir  Joseph  Banks, 
Sir  Charles  Bunbury,  Mr.  Windham  of  Norfolk,  Mr.  Sheridan, 
Mr.  Gibbon,  Sir  William  Jones,  Mr.  Colman,  Mr.  Steevens, 
Dr.  Burney,  Dr.  Joseph  Warton,  Mr.  Malone,  Lord  Ossory, 
Lord  Spencer,  Lord  Lucan,  Lord  Palmerston,  Lord  Eliot, 
Lord  Macartney,  Mr.  Richard  Burke  junior,  Sir  William 
Hamilton,  Dr.  Warren,  Mr.  Courtenay,  Dr.  Hinchcliffe 
Bishop  of  Peterborough,  the  Duke  of  Leeds,  Dr.  Douglas- 
Bishop  of  Salisbury,  and  the  writer  of  this  account. 

Not  very  long  after  the  institution  of  our  club,  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  was  sp)eaking  of  it  to  Garrick.  'I  like  it  much, 
(said  he),  I  think  I  shall  be  of  you.'  When  Sir  Joshua  men- 
tioned this  to  Dr.  Johnson,  he  was  much  displeased  with  the 
actor's  conceit.  '  He'll  be  of  us,  (said  Johnson)  how  does  he 
know  we  will  permit  him?  The  first  Duke  in  England  has 
no  right  to  hold  such  language.'  However,  when  Garrick 
was  regularly  proposed  some  time  afterwards,  Johnson, 
though  he  had  taken  a  momentary  offence  at  his  arrogance, 
warmly  and  kindly  supported  him,  and  he  was  accordingly 
elected,  was  a  most  agreeable  member,  and  continued  to 
attend  our  meetings  to  the  time  of  his  death. 

It  was  Johnson's  custom  to  observe  certain  days  with  a  pious 
abstraction;  viz.  New-year's-day,  the  day  of  his  wife's  death, 
Good  Friday,  Easter-day,  and  his  own  birth-day.  He  this 
year  says: — 'I  have  now  spent  fifty-five  years  in  resolving; 
having,  from  the  earliest  time  almost  that  I  can  remember, 
been  forming  schemes  of  a  better  life.  I  have  done  nothing. 
The  need  of  doing,  therefore,  is  pressing,  since  the  time  of 
doing  is  short.  0  God,  grant  me  to  resolve  aright,  and  to 
keep  my  resolutions,  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake.    Amen.' 

About  this  time  he  was  afflicted  with  a  very  severe  return 
of  the  hypochondriack  disorder,  which  was  ever  lurking 
about  him.  He  was  so  ill,  as,  notwithstanding  his  remark- 
able love  of  company,  to  be  entirely  averse  to  society,  the 
most  fatal  symptom  of  that  malady.  Dr.  Adams  told  me, 
that  as  an  old  friend  he  was  admitted  to  visit  him,  and  that 
he  found  him  in  a  deplorable  state,  sighing,  groaning,  talking 
to  himself,  and  restlessly  walking  from  room  to  room.    He 


17341  HIS  PARTICULARITIES  133 

then  used  this  emphatical  expression  of  the  misery  which  he 
felt:  'I  would  consent  to  have  a  limb  amputated  to  recover 
my  spirits.' 

Talking  to  himself  was,  indeed,  one  of  his  singularities  ever 
since  I  knew  him.  I  was  certain  that  he  was  frequently 
uttering  pious  ejaculations;  for  fragments  of  the  Lord's 
Prayer  have  been  distinctly  overheard.  His  friend  Mr. 
Thomas  Davies,  of  whom  Churchill  says, 

'That  Davies  hath  a  very  pretty  wife,' 

when  Dr.  Johnson  muttered  'lead  us  not  into  temptation,' 
used  with  waggish  and  gallant  humour  to  whisper  Mrs. 
Davies,  'You,  my  dear,  are  the  cause  of  this.' 

He  had  another  particularity,  of  which  none  of  hLs  friends 
ever  ventured  to  ask  an  explanation.  It  appeared  to  me 
some  superstitious  habit,  which  he  had  contracted  early,  and 
from  which  he  had  never  called  upon  his  reason  to  disentangle 
him.  This  was  his  anxious  care  to  go  out  or  in  at  a  door  or 
passage  by  a  certain  number  of  steps  from  a  certain  point, 
or  at  least  so  as  that  either  his  right  or  his  left  foot,  (I  am 
not  certain  which,)  should  constantly  make  the  first  actual 
movement  when  he  came  close  to  the  door  or  passage.  Thus 
I  conjecture:  for  I  have,  upon  innumerable  occasions,  ob- 
served him  suddenly  stop,  and  then  seem  to  count  his  steps 
with  a  deep  earnestness ;  and  when  he  had  neglected  or  gone 
wrong  in  this  sort  of  magical  movement,  I  have  seen  him  go 
back  again,  put  himself  in  a  proper  posture  to  begin  the 
ceremony,  and,  having  gone  through  it,  break  from  his 
abstraction,  walk  briskly  on,  and  join  his  companion.  A 
strange  instance  of  something  of  this  nature,  even  when  on 
horseback,  happened  when  he  was  in  the  isle  of  Sky.  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  has  observed  him  to  go  a  good  way  about, 
rather  than  cross  a  particular  alley  in  Leicester-fields;  but 
this  Sir  Joshua  imputed  to  his  having  had  some  disagreeable 
recollection  associated  with  it. 

That  the  most  minute  singularities  which  belonged  to  him, 
and  made  very  observable  parts  of  his  appearance  and  man- 
ner, may  not  be  omitted,  it  is  requisite  to  mention,  that  while 


134  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i764 

talking  or  even  musing  as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  he  commonly 
held  his  head  to  one  side  towards  his  right  shoulder,  and 
shook  it  in  a  tremulous  manner,  moving  his  body  backwards 
and  forwards,  and  rubbing  his  left  knee  in  the  same  direction, 
with  the  palm  of  his  hand.  In  the  intervals  of  articulating 
he  made  various  sounds  with  his  mouth,  sometimes  as  if 
ruminating,  or  what  is  called  chewing  the  cud,  sometimes 
giving  a  half  whistle,  sometimes  making  his  tongue  play 
backwards  from  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  as  if  clucking  like 
a  hen,  and  sometimes  protruding  it  against  his  upper  gums 
in  front,  as  if  pronouncing  quickly  under  his  breath,  too,  too, 
too :  all  this  accompanied  sometimes  with  a  thoughtful  look, 
but  more  frequently  with  a  smile.  Generally  when  he  had 
concluded  a  period,  in  the  course  of  a  dispute,  by  which  time 
he  was  a  good  deal  exhausted  by  violence  and  vociferation, 
he  used  to  blow  out  his  breath  like  a  Whale.  This  I  sup- 
posed was  a  relief  to  his  lungs;  and  seemed  in  him  to  be  a 
contemptuous  mode  of  expression,  as  if  he  had  made  the 
arguments  of  his  opponent  fly  like  chaff  before  the  wind. 

1765:  ^TAT.  56.] — Trinity  College,  Dublin,  at  this  time 
surprised  Johnson  with  a  spontaneous  compliment  of  the 
highest  academical  honours,  by  creating  him  Doctor  of  Laws. 

He  appears  this  year  to  have  been  seized  with  a  temporary 
fit  of  ambition,  for  he  had  thoughts  both  of  studying  law  and 
of  engaging  in  politics.  His  'Prayer  before  the  Study  of 
Law'  is  truly  admirable: — 

'Sept.  26,  1765. 
'Almighty  God,  the  giver  of  wisdom,  without  whose  help 
resolutions  are  vain,  without  whose  blessing  study  is  ineffec- 
tual; enable  me,  if  it  be  thy  will,  to  attain  such  knowledge 
as  may  qualify  me  to  direct  the  doubtful,  and  instruct  the 
ignorant;  to  prevent  wrongs  and  terminate  contentions; 
and  grant  that  I  may  use  that  knowledge  which  I  shall 
attain,  to  thy  glory  and  my  own  salvation,  for  Jesus  Christ's 
sake.    Amen.' 

This  year  was  distinguished  by  his  being  introduced  into 
the  family  of  Mr.  Thrale,  one  of  the  most  eminent  brewers 


1765]       INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  THRALES         135 

in  England,  and  Member  of  Parliament  for  the  borough  of 
Southwark.  Foreigners  are  not  a  little  amazed  when  they 
hear  of  brewers,  distillers,  and  men  in  similar  departmente 
of  trade,  held  forth  as  persons  of  considerable  consequence. 
In  this  great  commercial  country  it  is  natural  that  a  situa- 
tion which  produces  much  wealth  should  be  considered  as 
very  respectable;  and,  no  doubt,  honest  industry  is  entitled 
to  esteem.  But,  perhaps,  the  too  rapid  advance  of  men  of 
low  extraction  tends  to  lessen  the  value  of  that  distinction 
by  birth  and  gentility,  which  has  ever  been  found  beneficial 
to  the  grand  scheme  of  subordination.  Johnson  used  to 
give  this  account  of  the  rise  of  Mr.  Thrale's  father:  'He 
worked  at  six  shillings  a  week  for  twenty  years  in  the  great 
brewer\-,  which  afterwards  was  hjs  own.  The  proprietor  of 
it  had  an  only  daughter,  who  was  married  to  a  nobleman. 
It  was  not  fit  that  a  peer  should  continue  the  business.  On 
the  old  man's  death,  therefore,  the  brewery  was  to  be  sold. 
To  find  a  purchaser  for  so  large  a  property  was  a  difficult 
matter;  and,  after  some  time,  it  was  suggested,  that  it 
would  be  adviseable  to  treat  with  Thrale,  a  sensible,  active, 
honest  man,  who  had  been  employed  in  the  house,  and  to 
transfer  the  whole  to  him  for  thirty  thousand  pounds,  security 
being  taken  upon  the  property.  This  was  accordingly  set- 
tled. In  eleven  years  Thrale  paid  the  purchase-money.  He 
acquired  a  large  fortune,  and  lived  to  be  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment for  Southwark.  But  what  was  most  remarkable  was 
the  liberality  with  which  he  used  his  riches.  He  gave  his 
son  and  daughters  the  best  education.  The  esteem  which 
his  good  conduct  procured  him  from  the  nobleman  who  had 
married  his  master's  daughter,  made  him  be  treated  with 
much  attention;  and  his  son,  both  at  school  and  at  the 
University  of  Oxford,  associated  with  young  men  of  the  first 
rank.  His  allowance  from  his  father,  after  he  left  college, 
was  splendid;  no  less  than  a  thousand  a  year.  This,  in  a 
man  who  had  risen  as  old  Thrale  did,  was  a  verj'  extraor- 
dinan.'^  instance  of  generosity.  He  used  to  say,  "If  this 
young  dog  does  not  find  so  much  after  I  am  gone  as  he  ex- 
pects, let  him  remember  that  he  has  had  a  great  deal  in  my 
own  time.'" 


136  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i765 

The  son,  though  in  affluent  circumstances,  had  good  sense 
enough  to  carry  on  his  father's  trade,  which  was  of  such 
extent,  that  I  remember  he  once  told  me,  he  would  not  quit 
it  for  an  annuity  of  ten  thousand  a  year;  'Not  (said  he,) 
that  I  get  ten  thousand  a  year  by  it,  but  it  is  an  estate  to 
a  family.'  Having  left  daughters  only,  the  property  was  sold 
for  the  immense  sum  of  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  thousand 
pounds;  a  magnificent  proof  of  what  may  be  done  by  fair 
trade  in  no  long  period  of  time. 

Mr.  Thrale  had  married  Miss  Hesther  Lynch  Salusbury,  of 
good  Welsh  extraction,  a  lady  of  lively  talents,  improved  by 
education.  That  Johnson's  introduction  into  Mr.  Thrale's 
family,  which  contributed  so  much  to  the  happiness  of  his 
life,  was  owing  to  her  desire  for  his  conversation,  is  very 
probable  and  a  general  supposition:  but  it  is  not  the  truth. 
Mr.  Murphy,  who  was  intimate  with  Mr.  Thrale,  having 
spoken  very  highly  of  Dr.  Johnson,  he  was  requested  to  make 
them  acquainted.  This  being  mentioned  to  Johnson,  he 
accepted  of  an  invitation  to  dinner  at  Thrale's,  and  was  so 
much  pleased  with  his  reception,  both  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Thrale,  and  they  so  much  pleased  with  him,  that  his  invita- 
tions to  their  house  were  more  and  more  frequent,  till  at 
last  he  became  one  of  the  family,  and  an  apartment  was 
appropriated  to  him,  both  in  their  house  in  Southwark,  and 
in  their  villa  at  Streatham. 

Johnson  had  a  very  sincere  esteem  for  Mr.  Thrale,  as  a 
man  of  excellent  principles,  a  good  scholar,  well  skilled  in 
trade,  of  a  sound  understanding,  and  of  manners  such  as 
presented  the  character  of  a  plain  independent  English 
'Squire.  As  this  family  will  frequently  be  mentioned  in  the 
course  of  the  following  pages,,  and  as  a  false  notion  has  pre- 
vailed that  Mr.  Thrale  was  inferiour,  and  in  some  degree 
insignificant,  compared  with  Mrs.  Thrale,  it  may  be  proper 
to  give  a  true  state  of  the  case  from  the  authority  of  John- 
son himself  in  his  own  words. 

'  I  know  no  man,  (said  he,)  who  is  more  master  of  his  wife 
and  family  than  Thrale.  If  he  but  holds  up  a  finger,  he  is 
obeyed.  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  she  is  above 
him  in  literary  attainments.     She  is  more  flippant;   but  he 


1765]  HIS  SHAKSPEARE  PUBLISHED  137 

has  ten  times  her  learning:  he  is  a  regular  scholar;  but  her 
learning  is  that  of  a  school-boy  in  one  of  the  lower  forms.' 
My  readers  may  naturally  wish  for  some  representation  of 
the  figures  of  this  couple.  Mr.  Thrale  was  tall,  well  pro- 
portioned, and  stately.  As  for  Madam,  or  my  Mistress,  by 
which  epithets  Johnson  used  to  mention  Mrs.  Thrale,  she 
was  short,  plump,  and  brisk.  She  has  herself  given  us  a 
lively  view  of  the  idea  which  Johnson  had  of  her  person, 
on  her  appearing  before  him  in  a  dark-coloured  gown :  '  You 
little  creatures  should  never  w^ear  those  sort  of  clothes, 
however;  they  are  unsuitable  in  every  way.  What!  have 
not  all  insects  gay  colours?'  Mr.  Thrale  gave  his  wife  a 
liberal  indulgence,  both  in  the  choice  of  their  company,  and 
in  the  mode  of  entertaining  them.  He  understood  and 
valued  Johnson,  without  remission,  from  their  first  acquain- 
tance to  the  day  of  his  death.  Mrs.  Thrale  was  enchanted 
with  Johnson's  conversation,  for  its  own  sake,  and  had  also 
a  very  allowable  vanity  in  appearing  to  be  honoured  with 
the  attention  of  so  celebrated  a  man. 

Nothing  could  be  more  fortunate  for  Johnson  than  this 
connection.  He  had  at  Mr.  Thrale's  all  the  comforts  and 
even  luxuries  of  life;  his  melancholy  was  diverted,  and  his 
irregular  habits  lessened  by  association  with  an  agreeable 
and  well-ordered  family.  He  was  treated  with  the  utmost 
respect,  and  even  affection.  The  vivacity  of  Mrs.  Thrale's 
literary  talk  roused  him  to  cheerfulness  and  exertion,  even 
when  they  were  alone.  But  this  was  not  often  the  case; 
for  he  found  here  a  constant  succession  of  what  gave  him 
the  highest  enjoyment:  the  society  of  the  learned,  the  witty, 
and  the  eminent  in  every  way,  who  were  assembled  in  numer- 
ous companies,  called  forth  hiswonderful  powers,  and  grati- 
fied him  with  admiration,  to  which  no  man  could  be  insen- 
sible. 

In  the  October  of  this  year  he  at  length  gave  to  the  world 
his  edition  of  Shakspeare,  which,  if  it  had  no  other  merit  but 
that  of  producing  his  Preface,  in  which  the  excellencies  and 
defects  of  that  immortal  bard  are  displayed  with  a  masterly 
hand,  the  nation  would  have  had  no  reason  to  complain. 

In  1764  and  1765  it  should  seem  that  Dr.  Johnson  was 


138  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i765 

so  busily  employed  with  his  edition  of  Shakspeare,  as  to 
liave  had  little  leisure  for  any  other  literary  exertion,  or, 
indeed,  even  for  private  correspondence.  He  did  not  favour 
me  with  a  single  letter  for  more  than  two  years,  for  which 
it  will  appear  that  he  afterwards  apologised. 

He  was,  however,  at  all  times  ready  to  give  assistance  to 
his  friends,  and  others,  in  revising  their  works,  and  in  writ- 
ing for  them,  or  greatly  improving  their  Dedications.  In 
that  courtly  species  of  composition  no  man  excelled  Dr. 
Johnson.  Though  the  loftiness  of  his  mind  prevented  him 
from  ever  dedicating  in  his  own  person,  he  wrote  a  very 
great  number  of  Dedications  for  others.  Some  of  these,  the 
persons  who  were  favoured  with  them  are  unwilling  should 
be  mentioned,  from  a  too  anxious  apprehension,  as  I  think, 
that  they  might  be  suspected  of  having  received  larger 
assistance;  and  some,  after  all  the  diligence  I  have  bestowed, 
have  escaped  my  enquiries.  He  told  me,  a  great  many 
years  ago,  'he  believed  he  had  dedicated  to  all  the  Royal 
Family  round;'  and  it  was  indifferent  to  him  what  was  the 
subject  of  the  work  dedicated,  provided  it  were  innocent. 
He  once  dedicated  some  Musick  for  the  German  Flute  to 
Edward,  Duke  of  York,  In  writing  Dedications  for  others, 
he  considered  himself  as  by  no  means  speaking  his  own 
sentiments. 

I  returned  to  London  in  February^,  and  found  Dr.  Johnson 
in  a  good  house  in  Johnson's  Court,  Fleet-street,  in  which 
he  had  accommodated  Miss  Williams  with  an  apartment  on 
the  ground  floor,  while  Mr.  Levet  occupied  his  post  in  the 
garret:  his  faithful  Francis  was  still  attending  upon  him. 
He  received  me  with  much  kindness.  The  fragments  of 
■our  first  conversation,  which  I  have  preserved,  are  these: 
I  told  him  that  Voltaire,  in  a  conversation  with  me,  had 
•distinguished  Pope  and  Dryden  thus: — 'Pope  drives  a  hand- 
some chariot,  with  a  couple  of  neat  trim  nags;  Dryden  a 
coach,  and  six  stately  horses.'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  the 
truth  is,  they  both  drive  coaches  and  six;  but  Dryden's 
liorses  are  either  galloping  or  stumbling :  Pope's  go  at  a  steady 
even  trot.'     He  said  of  Goldsmith's   Traveller,   which  had 

11766. 


1766]  DEISTS  139 

been  published  in  my  absence,  'There  has  not  been  so  fine 
a  poem  since  Pope's  time.' 

Talking  of  education,  '  People  have  now  a-days,  (said  he,) 
got  a  strange  opuiion  that  every  thing  should  be  taught  by 
lectures.  Now,  I  cannot  see  that  lectures  can  do  so  much 
good  as  reading  the  books  from  which  the  lecturas  are  taken. 
I  know  nothing  that  can  be  best  taught  by  lectures,  except 
where  experiments  are  to  be  shewn.  You  may  teach  chym- 
istry  by  lectures. — You  might  teach  making  of  shoes  by 
lectures ! ' 

At  night  I  supped  with  him  at  the  Mitre  tavern,  that  we 
might  renew  our  social  intimacy  at  the  original  place  of 
meeting.  But  there  was  now  a  considerable  difference  in 
his  way  of  living.  Having  had  an  illness,  in  which  he  was 
advised  to  leave  off  wine,  he  had,  from  that  period,  con- 
tinued to  abstain  from  it,  and  drank  only  water,  or  lem- 
onade. 

I  told  him  that  a  foreign  friend  of  his,  whom  I  had  met 
with  abroad,  was  so  wretchedly  perverted  to  infidelity,  that 
he  treated  the  hopes  of  immortality  with  brutal  levity;  and 
said,  'As  man  dies  like  a  dog,  let  him  lie  like  a  dog.'  John- 
son. '//  he  dies  like  a  dog,  let  him  lie  like  a  dog.'  I  added, 
that  this  man  said  to  me,  'I  hate  mankind,  for  I  think  my- 
self one  of  the  best  of  them,  and  I  know  how  bad  I  am.' 
Johnson.  'Sir,  he  must  be  very  singular  in  his  opinion,  if 
he  thinks  himself  one  of  the  best  of  men;  for  none  of  his 
friends  think  him  so.' — He  said,  'no  honest  man  could  be  a 
Deist;  for  no  man  could  be  so  after  a  fair  examination  of 
the  proofs  of  Christianity.'  I  named  Hume.  Johnson. 
'Xo,  Sir;  Hume  owned  to  a  clergyman  in  the  bishoprick  of 
Durham,  that  he  had  never  read  the  New  Testament  with 
attention.'  I  mentioned  Hume's  notion,  that  all  who  are 
happy  are  equally  happy;  a  little  miss  with  a  new  gown  at 
a  dancing  school  ball,  a  general  at  the  head  of  a  victorious 
army,  and  an  orator,  after  having  made  an  eloquent  speech 
in  a  great  assembly.  Johnson.  'Sir,  that  all  who  are 
happy,  are  equally  happy,  is  not  true.  A  peasant  and  a 
philosopher  may  be  equally  satisfied,  but  not  equally  happy. 
Happiness  consists  in  the  multiplicity  of  agreeable  conscious- 


140  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1766 

ness.  A  peasant  has  not  capacity  for  having  equal  happiness 
with  a  philosopher.' 

Dr.  Johnson  was  very  kind  this  evening,  and  said  to  me, 
'You  have  now  Uved  five-and-twenty  years,  and  you  have 
employed  them  well.'  'Alas,  Sir,  (said  I,)  I  fear  not.  Do 
I  know  history?  Do  I  know  mathema ticks ?  Do  I  know 
law?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  though  you  may  know  no 
science  so  well  as  to  be  able  to  teach  it,  and  no  profession 
so  well  as  to  be  able  to  follow  it,  your  general  mass  of  knowl- 
edge of  books  and  men  renders  you  very  capable  to  make 
yourself  master  of  any  science,  or  fit  yourself  for  any  pro- 
fession.' I  mentioned  that  a  gay  friend  had  advised  me 
against  being  a  lawyer,  because  I  should  be  excelled  by 
plodding  block-heads.  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  in  the  for- 
mulary and  statutory  part  of  law,  a  plodding  block-head 
may  excel;  but  in  the  ingenious  and  rational  part  of  it  a 
plodding  block-head  can  never  excel.' 

I  talked  of  the  mode  adopted  by  some  to  rise  in  the  world, 
by  courting  great  men,  and  asked  him  whether  he  had  ever 
submitted  to  it.  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  I  never  was  near 
enough  to  great  men,  to  court  them.  You  may  be  pru- 
dently attached  to  great  men  and  yet  independent.  You 
are  not  to  do  what  you  think  wrong;  and,  Sir,  you  are  to 
calculate,  and  not  pay  too  dear  for  what  you  get.  You 
must  not  give  a  shilling's  worth  of  court  for  six-pence  worth 
of  good.  But  if  you  can  get  a  shilling's  worth  of  good  for 
six-pence  worth  of  court,  you  are  a  fool  if  you  do  not  pay 
court.' 

I  talked  to  him  a  great  deal  of  what  I  had  seen  in  Corsica, 
and  of  my  intention  to  publish  an  account  of  it.  He  en- 
couraged me  by  saying,  'You  cannot  go  to  the  bottom  of 
the  subject;  but  all  that  you  tell  us  will  be  new  to  us.  Give 
us  as  many  anecdotes  as  you  can.' 

Our  next  meeting  at  the  Mitre  was  on  Saturday  the  15th 
of  February,  when  I  presented  to  him  my  old  and  most  in- 
timate friend,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Temple,  then  of  Cambridge. 
I  having  mentioned  that  I  had  passed  some  time  with  Rous- 
seau in  his  wild  retreat,  and  having  quoted  some  remark 
made  by  Mr.  Wilkes,  with  whom  I  had  spent  many  pleasant 


1766)      ROUSSEAU,  VOLTAIRE,  AND  WILKES       141 

hours  in  Italy,  Johnson  said  (sarcastically,)  'It  seems,  Sir, 
you  have  kept  very  good  company  abroad,  Rousseau  and 
Wilkes!'  Thinking  it  enough  to  defend  one  at  a  time,  I 
said  nothing  as  to  my  gay  friend,  but  answered  with  a  smile, 
'My  dear  Sir,  you  don't  call  Rousseau  bad  company.  Do 
you  really  think  him  a  bad  man?'  Johnson.  'Sir,  if  you 
are  talking  jestingly  of  this,  I  don't  talk  with  you.  If  you 
mean  to  be  serious,  I  think  him  one  of  the  worst  of  men; 
a  rascal  who  ought  to  be  hunted  out  of  society,  as  he  has  been. 
Three  or  four  nations  have  expelled  him;  and  it  is  a  shame 
that  he  is  protected  in  this  country.'  Boswell.  'I  don't 
deny,  Sir,  but  that  his  novel  may,  perhaps,  do  harm;  but  I 
cannot  think  his  intention  was  bad.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  that 
will  not  do.  We  cannot  prove  any  man's  intention  to  be 
bad.  You  may  shoot  a  man  through  the  head,  and  say 
you  intended  to  miss  him;  but  the  Judge  will  order  you  to 
be  hanged.  An  alleged  want  of  intention,  when  evil  is  com- 
mitted, wiU  not  be  allowed  in  a  court  of  justice.  Rousseau, 
Sir,  is  a  very  bad  man.  I  would  sooner  sign  a  sentence  for 
his  transportation,  than  that  of  any  felon  who  has  gone  from 
the  Old  Bailey  these  many  years.  Yes,  I  should  like  to 
have  him  work  in  the  plantations.'  Boswell.  'Sir,  do 
you  think  him  as  bad  a  man  as  Voltaire?'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  it  is  difficult  to  settle  the  proportion  of  iniquity 
between  them.' 

On  his  favourite  subject  of  subordination,  Johnson  said, 
'So  far  is  it  from  being  true  that  men  are  naturally  equal, 
that  no  two  people  can  be  half  an  hour  together,  but  one 
shall  acquire  an  evident  superiority  over  the  other.' 

I  mentioned  the  advice  given  us  by  philosophers,  to  con- 
sole ourselves,  when  distressed  or  embarrassed,  by  thinking 
of  those  who  are  in  a  worse  situation  than  ourselves.  This, 
I  observed,  could  not  apply  to  all,  for  there  must  be  some 
who  have  nobody  worse  than  they  are.  Johnson.  'Why, 
to  be  sure,  Sir,  there  are;  but  they  don't  know  it.  There  is- 
no  being  so  poor  and  so  contemptible,  who  does  not  think 
there  is  somebody  still  poorer,  and  stiU  more  contemptiWe/ 

As  my  stay  in  London  at  this  time  was  very  short,  I  had 
not.  many  ODDortunities  of  being  with  Dr.  Johnson;    but 


142  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i766 

I  felt  my  veneration  for  him  in  no  degree  lessened,  by  my 
having  seen  muUorum  hominum  mores  et  urbes.  On  the  con- 
trary, by  having  it  in  my  power  to  compare  him  with  many 
of  the  most  celebrated  persons  of  other  countries,  my  ad- 
miration of  his  extraordinary  mind  was  increased  and  con- 
firmed. 

The  roughness,  indeed,  which  sometimes  appeared  in  his 
manners,  was  more  striking  to  me  now,  from  my  having 
been  accustomed  to  the  studied  smooth  complying  habits 
©f  the  Continent;  and  I  clearly  recognised  in  him,  not  with- 
out respect  for  his  honest  conscientious  zeal,  the  same  in- 
dignant and  sarcastical  mode  of  treating  every  attempt  to 
unhinge  or  weaken  good  principles. 

One  evening  when  a  young  gentleman  teized  him  with  an 
account  of  the  infidelity  of  his  servant,  who,  he  said,  would 
not  believe  the  scriptures,  because  he  could  not  read  them 
in  the  original  tongues,  and  be  sure  that  they  were  not  in- 
vented, 'Why,  foolish  fellow,  (said  Johnson,)  has  he  any 
better  authority  for  almost  every  thing  that  he  believes?' 
BoswELL.  'Then  the  vulgar,  Sir,  never  can  know  they  are 
right,  but  must  submit  themselves  to  the  learned.'  John- 
son. 'To  be  sure,  Sir.  The  vulgar  are  the  children  of  the 
State,  anjd  must  be  taught  like  children.'  Boswell.  'Then, 
Sir,  a  poor  Turk  must  be  a  Mahometan,  just  as  a  poor 
Englishman  must  be  a  Christian?'  Johnson.  'Why,  yes, 
Sir;  and  what  then?  This  now  is  such  stuff  as  I  used  to 
talk  to  my  mother,  when  I  first  began  to  think  myself  a 
clever  fellow;  and  she  ought  to  have  whipt  me  for  it.' 

Another  evening  Dr.  Goldsmith  and  I  called  on  him,  with 
the  hope  of  prevailing  on  him  to  sup  with  us  at  the  Mitre. 
We  found  him  indisposed,  and  resolved  not  to  go  abroad. 
*Come  then,  (said  Goldsmith,)  we  will  not  go  to  the  Mitre 
to-night,  since  we  cannot  have  the  big  man  with  us.'  John- 
son then  called  for  a  bottle  of  port,  of  which  Goldsmith 
and  I  partook,  while  our  friend,  now  a  water-drinker,  sat 
by  us.  Goldsmith.  'I  think,  Mr.  Johnson,  you  don't  go 
near  the  theatres  now.  You  give  yourself  no  more  concern 
about  a  new  play,  than  if  you  had  never  had  any  thing  to 
do  with  the  stage.'    Johnson.     'Why,  Sir,  our  tastes  greatly 


17661  CHANGE  OF  TASTES  143 

alter.  The  lad  does  not  care  for  the  child's  rattle,  and  the 
old  man  does  not  care  for  the  young  man's  whore.'  Gold- 
smith. 'Nay,  Sir,  but  your  Muse  was  not  a  whore.'  John- 
son. 'Sir,  I  do  not  think  she  was.  But  as  we  advance  in 
the  journey  of  life,  we  drop  some  of  the  things  which  have 
plea.sed  us;  whether  it  be  that  we  are  fatigued  and  don't 
choose  to  carry  so  many  things  any  farther,  or  that  we  find 
other  things  which  we  like  better.'  Boswell.  'But,  Sir, 
why  don't  you  give  us  something  in  some  other  way?' 
Goldsmith.  *Ay,  Sir,  we  have  a  claim  upon  you.'  John- 
son. *  No,  Sir,  I  am  not  obliged  to  do  any  more.  No  man 
is  obliged  to  do  as  much  as  he  can  do.  A  man  is  to  have 
part  of  his  life  to  himself.  If  a  soldier  has  fought  a  good 
many  campaigns,  he  is  not  to  be  blamed  if  he  retires  to  ease 
and  tranquillity.  A  physician,  who  has  practised  long  in  a 
great  city,  may  be  excused  if  he  retires  to  a  small  town, 
and  takes  less  practice.  Now,  Sir,  the  good  I  can  do  by  my 
conversation  bears  the  same  proportion  to  the  good  I  can  do 
by  my  writings,  that  the  practice  of  a  physician,  retired  to 
a  small  town,  does  to  his  practice  in  a  great  city.'  Boswell. 
'But  I  wonder.  Sir,  you  have  not  more  pleasure  in  writing 
than  in  not  writing.'    Johnson.     'Sir,  you  may  wonder.' 

He  talked  of  making  verses,  and  observed,  'The  great 
difficulty  is  to  know  when  j'ou  have  made  good  ones.  When 
composing,  I  have  generally  had  them  in  my  mind,  perhaps 
fifty  at  a  time,  walking  up  and  down  in  my  room ;  and  then 
I  have  written  them  down,  and  often,  from  laziness,  have 
written  only  half  lines.  I  have  written  a  hundred  lines  in  a 
day.  I  remember  I  wrote  a  hundred  lines  of  The  Vanity  of 
Human  Wishes  in  a  day.  Doctor,  (turning  to  Goldsmith,) 
I  am  not  quite  idle;  I  made  one  line  t'other  day;  but  I 
made  no  more.'  Goldsmith.  'Let  us  hear  it;  we'll  put  a 
bad  one  to  it.'    Johnson.    'No,  Sir,  I  have  forgot  it.' 

'To  Bennet  Langton,  Esq.,  at  Langton,  near 
Spilsby,  Lincolnshire. 

'Dear  Sir, — What  your  friends  have  done,  that  from 
your  departure  till  now  nothing  has  been  heard  of  you,  none 


144  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i766 

of  us  are  able  to  inform  the  rest;  but  as  we  are  all  neglected 
alike,  no  one  thinks  himself  entitled  to  the  privilege  of 
complaint. 

'I  should  have  known  nothing  of  you  or  of  Langton,  from 
the  time  that  dear  Miss  Langton  left  us,  had  not  I  met  Mr. 
Simpson,  of  Lincoln,  one  day  in  the  street,  by  whom  I  was 
informed  that  Mr.  Langton,  your  Mamma,  and  yourself,  had 
been  all  ill,  but  that  you  were  all  recovered. 

'That  sickness  should  suspend  your  correspondence,  I 
did  not  wonder;  but  hoped  that  it  would  be  renewed  at 
your  recovery. 

'Since  you  will  not  inform  us  where  you  are,  or  how  you 
live,  I  know  not  whether  you  desire  to  know  any  thing  of  us. 
However,  I  will  tell  you  that  the  club  subsists;  but  we 
have  the  loss  of  Burke 's  company  since  he  has  been  engaged 
in  publick  business,  in  which  he  has  gained  more  reputation 
than  perhaps  any  man  at  his  [first]  appearance  ever  gained 
before.  He  made  two  speeches  in  the  House  for  repealing 
the  Stamp-act,  which  were  publickly  commended  by  Mr. 
Pitt,  and  have  filled  the  town  with  wonder. 

'Burke  is  a  great  man  by  nature,  and  is  expected  soon  to 
attain  civil  greatness.  I  am  grown  greater  too,  for  I  have 
maintained  the  news-papers  these  many  weeks;  and  what 
is  greater  still,  I  have  risen  every  morning  since  New-year's 
day,  at  about  eight;  when  I  was  up,  I  have  indeed  done  but 
little;  yet  it  is  no  slight  advancement  to  obtain  for  so  many 
hours  more,  the  consciousness  of  being. 

'I  wish  you  were  in  my  new  study;  I  am  now  writing  the 
first  letter  in  it.     I  think  it  looks  very  pretty  about  me. 

'Dyer  is  constant  at  the  club;  Hawkins  is  remiss;  I  am 
not  over  diligent.  Dr.  Nugent,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  and  Mr. 
Reynolds,  are  very  constant.  Mr.  Lye  is  printing  his  Saxon 
and  Gothick  Dictionary;  all  the  club  subscribes. 

'You  will  pay  my  respects  to  all  my  Lincolnshire  friends. 
I  am,  dear  Sir,  most  affectionately  your's, 

'  March  9 .  1 766.  '  Sam  .  Johnson  . ' 

Johnson's-court,  Fleet-street.' 

The  Honourable  Thomas  Hervey  and  his  lady  having  un- 
happily disagreed,   and   being  about  to  separate,  Johnson 


17671  BUCKINGHAM-HOUSE  LIBRARY  145 

interfered  as  their  friend,  and  wrote  him  a  letter  of  expostu- 
lation, which  I  have  not  been  able  to  find;  but  the  substance 
of  it  is  ascertained  by  a  letter  to  Johnson  in  answer  to  it, 
which  Mr.  Hervey  printed.  The  occasion  of  this  corre- 
spondence between  Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Hervey,  was  thus 
related  to  me  by  Mr.  Beauclerk.  *  Tom  Hervey  had  a  great 
liking  for  Johnson,  and  in  his  will  had  left  him  a  legacy  of 
fifty  pounds.  One  day  he  said  to  me,  "Johnson  may  want 
this  money  now,  more  than  afterwards.  I  have  a  mind  to 
give  it  him  directly.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  carry  a  fifty 
pound  note  from  me  to  him?"  This  I  positively  refused  to 
do,  as  he  might,  perhaps,  have  knocked  me  down  for  insulting 
him,  and  have  afterwards  put  the  note  in  his  pocket.  But 
I  said,  if  Hervey  would  write  him  a  letter,  and  enclose  a 
fifty  pound  note,  I  should  take  care  to  deliver  it.  He  ac- 
cordingly did  write  him  a  letter,  mentioning  that  he  was 
only  paying  a  legacy  a  little  sooner.  To  his  letter  he  added, 
"  P.  S.  I  am  going  to  part  with  my  wife."  Johnson  then  wrote 
to  him,  saying  nothing  of  the  note,  but  remonstrating  with 
him  against  parting  with  his  wife.' 

In  February,  1767,  there  happened  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable incidents  of  Johnson's  life,  which  gratified  his 
monarchical  enthusiasm,  and  which  he  loved  to  relate  with 
all  its  circumstances,  when  requested  by  his  friends.  This 
was  his  being  honoured  by  a  private  conversation  with  his 
Majesty,  in  the  library  at  the  Queen's  house.  He  had  fre- 
quently visited  those  splendid  rooms  and  noble  collection  of 
books,  which  he  used  to  say  was  more  numerous  and  curious 
than  he  supposed  any  person  could  have  made  in  the  time 
which  the  King  had  employed.  Mr.  Barnard,  the  librarian, 
took  care  that  he  should  have  every  accommodation  that 
could  contribute  to  his  ease  and  convenience,  while  indulging 
his  literary  taste  in  that  place;  so  that  he  had  here  a  very 
agreeable  resource  at  leisure  hours. 

His  Majesty  having  been  informed  of  his  occasional  visits, 
was  pleased  to  signify  a  desire  that  he  should  be  told  when 
Dr.  Johnson  came  next  to  the  library.  Accordingly,  the 
next  time  that  Johnson  did  come,  as  soon  as  he  was  fairly 
engaged  with  a  book,  on  which,  while  he  sat  by  the  fire,  he 
seemed  quite  intent,  Mr.  Barnard  stole  round  to  the  apart- 


146  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [n&7 

ment  where  the  King  was,  and,  in  obedience  to  his  Majesty's 
commands,  mentioned  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  then  in  the 
Ubrary.  His  Majesty  said  he  was  at  leisure,  and  would  go 
to  him;  upon  which  Mr.  Barnard  took  one  of  the  candles 
that  stood  on  the  King's  table,  and  lighted  his  Majesty 
through  a  suite  of  rooms,  till  they  came  to  a  private  door 
into  the  library,  of  which  his  Majesty  had  the  key.  Being 
entered,  Mr.  Barnard  stepped  forward  hastily  to  Dr.  John- 
son, who  was  still  in  a  profound  study,  and  whispered  him, 
'Sir,  here  is  the  King.'  Johnson  started  up,  and  stood  still. 
His  Majesty  approached  him,  and  at  once  was  courteously 
easy. 

His  Majesty  began  by  observing,  that  he  understood  he 
came  sometimes  to  the  library;  and  then  mentioning  his 
having  heard  that  the  Doctor  had  been  lately  at  Oxford, 
asked  him  if  he  was  not  fond  of  going  thither.  To  which 
Johnson  answered,  that  he  was  indeed  fond  of  going  to 
Oxford  sometimes,  but  was  likewise  glad  to  come  back  again. 
The  King  then  asked  him  what  they  were  doing  at  Oxford. 
Johnson  answered,  he  could  not  much  commend  their  dili- 
gence, but  that  in  some  respects  they  were  mended,  for  they 
had  put  their  press  under  better  regulations,  and  were  at 
that  time  printing  Polybius.  He  was  then  asked  whether 
there  were  better  libraries  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge.  He 
answered,  he  believed  the  Bodleian  was  larger  than  any  they 
had  at  Cambridge;  at  the  same  time  adding,  'I  hope,  whether 
we  have  more  books  or  not  than  they  have  at  Cambridge,, 
we  shall  make  as  good  use  of  them  as  they  do.'  Being  asked 
whether  All-Souls  or  Christ-Church  library  was  the  largest, 
he  answered,  'All-Souls  library  is  the  largest  we  have,  ex- 
cept the  Bodleian.'  'Aye,  (said  the  King,)  that  is  the  pub- 
lick  library.' 

His  Majesty  enquired  if  he  was  then  writing  any  thing. 
He  answered,  he  was  not,  for  he  had  pretty  well  told  the 
world  what  he  knew,  and  must  now  read  to  acquire  more 
knowledge.  The  King,  as  it  should  seem  with  a  view  to 
urge  him  to  rely  on  his  own  stores  as  an  original  writer,  and 
to  continue  his  labours,  then  said  'I  do  not  think  you  borrow 
much  from  any  body.'    Johnson  said,  he  thought  he  had 


1767]        CONVERSATION  WITH  THE  KING  147 

already  done  his  part  as  a  writer.  'I  should  have  thought 
so  too,  (said  the  King,)  if  you  had  not  written  so  well.' — 
Johnson  observed  to  me,  upon  this,  that '  No  man  could  have 
paid  a  handsomer  compliment;  and  it  was  fit  for  a  King  to 
pay.  It  was  decisive.'  When  asked  by  another  friend,  at 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's,  whether  he  made  any  reply  to  this 
high  compliment,  he  answered,  'No,  Sir.  When  the  King 
had  said  it,  it  was  to  be  so.  It  was  not  for  me  to  bandy 
civilities  with  my  Sovereign.'  Perhaps  no  man  who  had  spent 
his  whole  life  in  courts  could  have  shewn  a  more  nice  and 
dignified  sense  of  true  politeness,  than  Johnson  did  in  this 
instance. 

His  Majesty  having  observed  to  him  that  he  supposed  h© 
must  have  read  a  great  deal;  Johnson  answered,  that  he 
thought  more  than  he  read ;  that  he  had  read  a  great  deal  in 
the  early  part  of  his  life,  but  having  fallen  into  ill  health,  he 
had  not  been  able  to  read  much,  compared  with  others:  for 
instance,  he  said  he  had  not  read  much,  compared  with  Dr. 
Warburton.  Upon  which  the  King  said,  that  he  heard  Dr. 
Warburton  was  a  man  of  such  general  knowledge,  that  you 
could  scarce  talk  with  him  on  any  subject  on  which  he  was 
not  qualified  to  speak;  and  that  his  learning  resembled 
Garrick's  acting,  in  its  universality.  His  Majesty  then 
talked  of  the  controversy  between  Warburton  and  Lowth, 
which  he  seemed  to  have  read,  and  asked  Johnson  what  he 
thought  of  it.  Johnson  answered,  'Warburton  has  most 
general,  most  scholastick  learning;  Lowth  is  the  more  cor- 
rect scholar.  I  do  not  know  which  of  them  calls  names 
best.'  The  King  was  pleased  to  say  he  was  of  the  same 
opinion;  adding,  'You  do  not  think,  then,  Dr.  Johnson,  that 
there  was  much  argument  in  the  case.'  Johnson  said,  he 
did  not  think  there  was.  'Why  truly,  (said  the  King,)  when 
once  it  comes  to  calling  names,  argument  is  pretty  well  at 
an  end.' 

His  Majesty  then  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  Lord 
Lyttelton's  History,  which  was  then  just  published.  John- 
son said,  he  thought  his  style  pretty  good,  but  that  he  had 
blamed  Henry  the  Second  rather  too  much.  'Why,  (said 
the  King,)  they  seldom  do  these  things  by  halves.'     'No,  Sir, 


148  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i767 

(answered  Johnson,)  not  to  Kings.'  But  fearing  to  be  mis- 
understood, he  proceeded  to  explain  himself;  and  immedi- 
ately subjoined,  'That  for  those  who  spoke  worse  of  Kings 
than  they  deserved,  he  could  find  no  excuse;  but  that  he 
could  more  easily  conceive  how  some  might  speak  better  of 
them  than  they  deserved,  without  any  ill  intention;  for,  as 
Kings  had  much  in  their  power  to  give,  those  who  were 
favoured  by  them  would  frequently,  from  gratitude,  exag- 
gerate their  praises;  and  as  this  proceeded  from  a  good 
motive,  it  was  certainly  excusable,  as  far  as  errour  could  be 
excusable.' 

The  King  then  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  Dr.  Hill. 
Johnson  answered,  that  he  was  an  ingenious  man,  but  had 
tio  veracity;  and  immediately  mentioned,  as  an  instance  of 
it,  an  assertion  of  that  writer,  that  he  had  seen  objects 
magnified  to  a  much  greater  degree  by  using  three  or  four 
microscopes  at  a  time,  than  by  using  one.  'Now,  (added 
Johnson,)  every  one  acquainted  with  microscopes  knows,  that 
the  more  of  them  he  looks  through,  the  less  the  object  will 
appear.'  'Why,  (replied  the  King,)  this  is  not  only  telling 
an  untruth,  but  telling  it  clumsily;  for,  if  that  be  the  case, 
ev6ry  one  who  can  look  through  a  microscope  will  be  able 
to  detect  him.'  .i,,*."-^ 

'I  now,  (said  Johnson  to  his  friends,  when  relating  what 
had  passed)  began  to  consider  that  I  was  depreciating  this 
man  in  the  estimation  of  his  Sovereign,  and  thought  it  was 
time  for  me  to  say  something  that  might  be  more  favourable.' 
He  added,  therefore,  that  Dr.  Hill  was,  notwithstanding, 
A  very  curious  observer;  and  if  he  would  have  been  con- 
tented to  tell  the  world  no  more  than  he  knew,  he  might  have 
been  a  very  considerable  man,  and  needed  not  to  have  re- 
ijourse  to  such  mean  expedients  to  raise  his  reputation. 

The  King  then  talked  of  literary  journals,  mentioned  par- 
ticularly the  Journal  des  Savans,  and  asked  Johnson  if  it  was 
well  done.  Johnson  said,  it  was  formerly  very  well  done, 
and  gave  some  account  of  the  persons  who  began  it,  and 
carried  it  on  for  some  years;  enlarging,  at  the  same  time,  on 
the  nature  and  use  of  such  works.  The  King  asked  him  if  it 
was  well  done  now.    Johnson  answered,  he  had  no  reason  to 


17671  BEARING  TOWARD  THE  KING  U9 

think  that  it  was.  The  King  then  asked  him  if  there  were 
any  other  literary  journals  published  in  this  kingdom,  except 
the  Monthly  and  Critical  Reviews  ;  and  on  being  answered 
there  were  no  other,  his  Majesty  asked  which  of  them  was 
the  best:  Johnson  answered,  that  the  Monthly  Review  was 
done  with  most  care,  the  Critical  upon  the  b€«t  principles; 
adding  that  the  authours  of  the  Monthly  Review  were  enemies 
to  the  Church.     This  the  King  said  he  was  sorry  to  hear. 

The  conversation  next  turned  on  the  Philosophical  Trans- 
actions, when  Johnson  observed,  that  they  had  now  a  better 
method  of  arranging  their  materials  than  formerly.  'Aye, 
(said  the  King,)  they  are  obliged  to  Dr.  Johnson  for  that;' 
for  his  Majesty  had  heard  and  remembered  the  circumstance, 
which  Johnson  himself  had  forgot. 

His  Majesty  expressed  a  desire  to  have  the  literary  biog- 
raphy of  this  country  ably  executed,  and  proposed  to  Dr. 
Johnson  to  undertake  it.  Johnson  signified  his  readiness  to 
comply  with  his  Majesty's  wishes. 

During  the  whole  of  this  interview,  Johnson  talked  to  his 
Majesty  with  profound  respect,  but  still  in  his  firm  manly 
manner,  with  a  sonorous  voice,  and  never  in  that  subdued 
tone  which  is  commonly  used  at  the  levee  and  in  the  drawing- 
room.  After  the  King  withdrew,  Johnson  shewed  himself 
highly  pleased  with  his  Majesty's  conversation,  and  gracious 
behaviour.  He  said  to  Mr.  Barnard,  'Sir,  they  may  talk  of 
the  King  as  they  will;  but  he  is  the  finest  gentleman  I  have, 
ever  seen.'  And  he  afterwards  observed  to  Mr.  Langton^, 
'Sir,  his  manners  are  those  of  as  fine  a  gentleman  as  we  may, 
suppose  Lewis  the  Fourteenth  or  Charles  the  Second.' 

At  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's,  where  a  circle  of  Johnson's 
friends  was  collected  round  him  to  hear  his  account  of  this 
memorable  conversation,  Dr.  Joseph  Warton,  in  his  frank 
and  lively  manner,  was  very  active  in  pressing  him  to  men- 
tion the  particulars.  'Come  now.  Sir,  this  is  an  interesting 
matter;  do  favour  us  with  it.'  Johnson,  with  great  good? 
humour,  complied. 

He  told  them,  'I  found  his  Majesty  wished  I  should  talk^ 
and  I  made  it  my  business  to  talk.  I  find  it  does  a  man 
good  to  be  talked  to  by  his  Sovereign.    In  the  first  place,  a 


150  LIFE   OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [1767 

man  cannot  be  in  a  passion — .'  Here  some  question  inter- 
rupted him,  which  is  to  be  regretted,  as  he  certainly  would 
have  pointed  out  and  illustrated  many  circumstances  of  ad- 
vantage, from  being  in  a  situation,  where  the  powers  of  the 
mind  are  at  once  excited  to  vigorous  exertion,  and  tempered 
by  reverential  awe. 

During  all  the  time  in  which  Dr.  Johnson  was  employed 
in  relating  to  the  circle  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  the  par- 
ticulars of  what  passed  between  the  King  and  him,  Dr. 
Goldsmith  remained  unmoved  upon  a  sopha  at  some  distance, 
affecting  not  to  join  in  the  least  in -the  eager  curiosity  of  the 
company.  He  assigned  as  a  reason  for  his  gloom  and  seem- 
ing inattention,  that  he  apprehended  Johnson  had  relin- 
quished his  purpose  of  furnishing  him  with  a  Prologue  to 
his  play,  with  the  hopes  of  which  he  had  been  flattered;  but 
it  was  strongly  suspected  that  he  was  fretting  with  chagrin 
and  envy  at  the  singular  honour  Dr.  Johnson  had  lately 
enjoyed.  At  length,  the  frankness  and  simplicity  of  his 
natural  character  prevailed.  He  sprung  from  the  sopha, 
advanced  to  Johnson,  and  in  a  kind  of  flutter,  from  imagin- 
ing himself  in  the  situation  which  he  had  just  been  hearing 
described,  exclaimed,  'Well,  you  acquitted  yourself  in  this 
conversation  better  than  I  should  have  done;  for  I  should 
have  bowed  and  stammered  through  the  whole  of  it.' 

His  diary  affords  no  light  as  to  his  employment  at  this 
time.  He  passed  three  months  at  Lichfield;  and  I  cannot 
omit  an  affecting  and  solemn  scene  there,  as  related  by 
himself: — 

'Sunday,  Oct.  18,  1767.  Yesterday,  Oct.  17,  at  about  ten 
in  the  morning,  I  took  my  leave  for  ever  of  my  dear  old 
friend,  Catharine  Chambers,  who  came  to  live  with  my 
mother  about  1724,  and  has  been  but  little  parted  from  us 
I  since.  She  buried  my  father,  my  brother,  and  my  mother. 
iShe  is  now  fifty-eight  years  old. 

'I  desired  all  to  withdraw,  then  told  her  that  we  were  to 
part  for  ever;  that  as  Christians,  we  should  part  with  prayer; 
«,nd  that  I  would,  if  she  was  willing,  say  a  short  prayer 
beside  her.  She  expressed  great  desire  to  hear  me;  and 
held  up  her  poor  hands,  as  she  lay  in  bed.  with  great  fer- 


1768]      PROLOGUE  TO  GOLDSMITH'S  PLAY        151 

vour,  while  I  prayed,  kneeling  by  her,  nearly  in  the  following 
words : 

'Almighty  and  most  merciful  Father,  whose  loving  kind- 
ness is  over  all  thy  works,  behold,  visit,  and  relieve  this  thy 
servant,  who  is  grieved  with  sickness.  Grant  that  the  sense 
of  her  weakness  may  add  strength  to  her  faith,  and  serious- 
ness to  her  repentance.  And  grant  that  by  the  help  of  thy 
Holy  Spirit,  after  the  pains  and  lalx)urs  of  this  short  life, 
we  may  all  obtain  everlasting  happiness,  through  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord;  for  whose  sake  hear  our  prayers.  Amen. 
Our  Father.  &c. 

'I  then  kissed  her.  She  told  me,  that  to  part  was  the 
greatest  pain  that  she  had  ever  felt,  and  that  she  hoped  we 
should  meet  again  in  a  better  place.  I  expressed,  with 
swelled  eyes,  and  great  emotion  of  tenderness,  the  same 
hopes.  We  kissed,  and  parted.  I  humbly  hope  to  meet 
again,  and  to  part  no  more.' 

1768:  ^TAT.  59.] — It  appears  from  his  notes  of  the  state 
of  his  mmd,  that  he  suffered  great  perturbation  and  dis- 
traction in  1768.  Nothing  of  his  wTiting  was  given  to  the 
publick  this  year,  except  the  Prologue  to  his  friend  Gold- 
smith's comedy  of  The  Good-natured  Man.  The  first  lines 
of  this  Prologue  are  strongly  characteristical  of  the  dismal 
gloom  of  his  mind;  which  in  his  case,  as  in  the  case  of  all 
who  are  distressed  with  the  same  malady  of  imagination, 
transfers  to  others  its  own  feelings.  Who  could  suppose  it 
was  to  introduce  a  comedy,  when  Mr.  Bensley  solemnly 
began, 

'  Press'd  with  the  load  of  life,  the  weary  mind 
Surveys  the  general  toil  of  human  kind.' 

But  this  dark  ground  might  make  Goldsmith's  humour  shine 
the  more. 

In  the  spring  of  this  year,  having  published  my  Account  of 
Corsica,  with  the  Journal  of  a  Tour  to  that  Island,  1  returned 
to  London,  very  desirous  to  see  Dr.  Johnson,  and  hear  him 
upon  the  subject.  I  found  he  was  at  Oxford,  with  his  friend 
Mr.  Chambers,  who  was  now  Vinerian  Professor,  and  lived  in 


152  LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [1768 

New  Inn  Hall.  Having  had  no  letter  from  him  since  that 
in  which  he  criticised  the  Latinity  of  my  Thesis,  and  having 
been  told  by  somebody  that  he  was  offended  at  my  having 
put  into  my  Book  an  extract  of  his  letter  to  me  at  Paris, 
I  was  impatient  to  be  with  him,  and  therefore  followed  him 
to  Oxford,  where  I  was  entertained  by  Mr.  Chambers,  with 
a  civility  which  I  shall  ever  gratefully  remember.  I  found 
that  Dr.  Johnson  had  sent  a  letter  to  me  to  Scotland,  and 
that  I  had  nothing  to  complain  of  but  his  being  more  in- 
different to  my  anxiety  than  I  wished  him  to  be.  Instead 
of  giving,  with  the  circumstances  of  time  and  place,  such 
fragments  of  his  conversation  as  I  preserved  during  this 
visit  to  Oxford,  I  shall  throw  them  together  in  continuation. 

Talking  of  some  of  the  modern  plays,  he  said  False  Deli- 
cacy was  totally  void  of  character.  He  praised  Goldsmith's 
Good-natured  Man;  said,  it  was  the  best  comedy  that  had 
appeared  since  The  Provoked  Husband,  and  that  there  had 
not  been  of  late  any  such  character  exhibited  on  the  stage 
as  that  of  Croaker.  I  observed  it  was  the  Suspirius  of  his 
Rambler.  He  said.  Goldsmith  had  owned  he  had  borrowed 
it  from  thence.  'Sir,  (continued  he,)  there  is  all  the  differ- 
ence in  the  world  between  characters  of  nature  and  charac- 
ters of  manners;  and  there  is  the  difference  between  the 
characters  of  Fielding  and  those  of  Richardson.  Characters 
of  manners  are  very  entertaining;  but  they  are  to  be  under- 
stood by  a  more  superficial  observer  than  characters  of 
nature,  where  a  man  must  dive  into  the  recesses  of  the 
human  heart.' 

It  always  appeared  to  me  that  he  estimated  the  compo- 
sitions of  Richardson  too  highly,  and  that  he  had  an  un- 
reasonable prejudice  against  Fielding.  In  comparing  those 
two  writers,  he  used  this  expression:  'that  there  was  as 
great  a  difference  between  them  as  between  a  man  who  knew 
how  a  watch  was  made,  and  a  man  who  could  tell  the  hour 
by  looking  on  the  dial-plate.' 

'I  have  not  been  troubled  for  a  long  time  with  authours 
desiring  my  opinion  of  their  works.  I  used  once  to  be  sadly 
plagued  with  a  man  who  wrote  verses,  but  who  literally  had 
no  other  notion  of  a  verse,  but  that  it  consisted  of  ten  sylla- 


17681  OPINIONS  ON  SCOTLAND  153 

bles.  Lay  your  knife  and  your  fork,  across  your  plate,  was  to 
him  a  verse: 

Lay  your  knife  and  your  fork,  across  your  plate. 

As  he  wrote  a  great  number  of  verses,  he  sometimes  by 
chance  made  good  ones,  though  he  did  not  know  it.' 

Johnson  expatiated  on  the  advantages  of  Oxford  for 
learnmg.  'There  is  here.  Sir,  (said  he,)  such  a  progressive 
emulation.  The  students  are  anxious  to  appear  well  to  their 
tutors;  the  tutors  are  anxious  to  have  their  pupils  appear 
well  in  the  college;  the  colleges  are  anxious  to  have  their 
students  appear  well  in  the  University;  and  there  are  excel- 
lent rules  of  discipline  in  every  college.  That  the  rules  are 
sometimes  ill  observed,  may  be  true;  but  is  nothing  against 
the  system.  The  members  of  an  University  may,  for  a  season, 
be  unmindful  of  their  duty.  I  am  arguing  for  the  excellency 
of  the  institution.' 

He  said  he  had  lately  been  a  long  while  at  Lichfield,  but 
had  grown  very  weary  before  he  left  it.  Boswell.  '  I  won- 
der at  that,  Sir;  it  is  your  native  place.'  Johnson.  'Why, 
so  is  Scotland  your  native  place.' 

His  prejudice  against  Scotland  appeared  remarkably  strong 
at  this  time.  When  I  talked  of  our  advancement  in  litera- 
ture, '  Sir,  (said  he,)  you  have  learnt  a  little  from  us,  and  you 
think  yourselves  very  great  men.  Hume  would  never  have 
written  History,  had  not  Voltaire  written  it  before  him. 
He  is  an  echo  of  Voltaire.'  Boswell.  'But,  Sir,  we  have 
Lord  Kames.'  Johnson.  'You  have  Lord  Kames.  Keep 
him;  ha,  ha,  ha!  We  don't  envy  you  him.  Do  you  ever 
see  Dr.  Robertson?'  Boswell.  'Yes,  Sir.'  Johnson. 
'Does  the  dog  talk  of  me?'  Boswell.  'Indeed,  Sir,  he 
does,  and  loves  you.'  Thinking  that  I  now  had  him  in  a 
corner,  and  being  solicitous  for  the  literary  fame  of  my 
country,  I  pressed  him  for  his  opinion  on  the  merit  of  Dr. 
Robertson's  History  of  Scotland.  But,  to  my  surprize,  he 
escaped. — 'Sir,  I  love  Robertson,  and  I  won't  talk  of  his 
book.' 

An  essay,  written  by  Mr.  Deane,  a  divine  of  the  Church  of 
B^ngland,  maintaining  the  future  life  of  brutes,  by  an  ex- 


154  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i768 

plication  of  certain  parts  of  the  scriptures,  was  mentioned, 
and  the  doctrine  insisted  on  by  a  gentleman  who  seemed 
fond  of  curious  speculation.  Johnson,  who  did  not  like  to 
hear  of  any  thing  concerning  a  future  state  which  was  not 
authorised  by  the  regular  canons  of  orthodoxy,  discouraged 
this  talk;  and  being  offended  at  its  continuation,  he  watched 
an  opportunity  to  give  the  gentleman  a  blow  of  reprehension. 
So,  when  the  poor  speculatist,  with  a  serious  metaphysical 
pensive  face,  addressed  him,  'But  really.  Sir,  when  we  see 
a  very  sensible  dog,  we  don't  know  what  to  think  of  him;' 
Johnson,  rolling  with  joy  at  the  thought  which  beamed  in 
his  eye,  turned  quickly  round,  and  replied,  'True,  Sir:  and 
when  we  see  a  very  foolish  fellow,  we  don't  know  what  to 
think  of  him.'  He  then  rose  up,  strided  to  the  fire,  and  stood 
for  some  time  laughing  and  exulting. 

I  asked  him  if  it  was  not  hard  that  one  deviation  from 
chastity  should  so  absolutely  ruin  a  young  woman.  John-' 
SON.  'Why,  no.  Sir;  it  is  the  great  principle  which  she  is 
taught.  When  she  has  given  up  that  principle,  she  has 
given  up  every  notion  of  female  honour  and  virtue,  which 
are  all  included  in  chastity.' 

A  gentleman  talked  to  him  of  a  lady  whom  he  greatly 
admired  and  wished  to  marry,  but  was  afraid  of  her  superi- 
ority of  talents.  'Sir,  (said  he,)  you  need  not  be  afraid; 
marry  her.  Before  a  year  goes  about,  you'll  find  that  reason 
much  weaker,  and  that  wit  not  so  bright.'  Yet  the  gentle- 
man may  be  justified  in  his  apprehension  by  one  of  Dr. 
Johnson's  admirable  sentences  in  his  life  of  Waller:  'He 
doubtless  praised  many  whom  he  would  have  been  afraid  to 
marry;  and,  perhaps,  married  one  whom  he  would  have  been 
ashamed  to  praise.  Many  qualities  contribute  to  domestic 
happiness,  upon  which  poetry  has  no  colours  to  bestow; 
and  many  airs  and  sallies  may  delight  imagination,  which  he 
who  flatters  them  never  can  approve.' 

He  praised  Signor  Baretti.  'His  account  of  Italy  is  a 
very  entertaining  book;  and,  Sir,  I  know  no  man  who 
carries  his  head  higher  in  conversation  than  Baretti.  There 
are  strong  powers  in  his  mind.  He  has  not,  indeed,  many 
hooks;  but  with  what  hooks  he  has,  he  grapples  very  forcibly. *■ 


1768]  JOHNSON'S  WATCH  155 

At  this  time  I  observed  upon  the  dial-plate  of  his  watch 
a  short  Greek  inscription,  taken  from  the  New  Testament, 
Nu§  Trap  epxe-cctt,  being  the  first  words  of  our  Saviour's 
solemn  admonition  to  the  improvement  of  that  time  which  is 
allowed  us  to  prepare  for  eternity:  'the  night  cometh,  when 
no  man  can  work.'  He  sometime  afterwards  laid  aside  this 
dial-plate;  and  when  I  asked  him  the  reason,  he  said,  'It 
might  do  very  well  upon  a  clock  which  a  man  keeps  in  his 
closet;  but  to  have  it  upon  his  watch  which  he  carries  about 
with  him,  and  which  is  often  looked  at  by  others,  might  be 
censured  as  ostentatious.'  Mr.  Steevens  is  now  possessed 
of  the  dial-plate  inscribed  as  above. 

He  remained  at  Oxford  a  considerable  time;  I  was  obliged 
to  go  to  London,  where  I  received  his  letter,  which  had  been 
returned  from  Scotland. 

'To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

'My  Dear  Boswell, — I  have  omitted  a  long  time  to 
write  to  you,  without  knowing  very  well  why.  I  could  now 
tell  why  I  should  not  write;  for  who  would  write  to  men 
who  publish  the  letters  of  their  friends,  without  their  leave? 
Yet  I  write  to  you  in  spite  of  my  caution,  to  tell  you  that  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you,  and  that  I  wish  you  would  empty 
your  head  of  Corsica,  which  I  think  has  filled  it  rather  too 
long.  But,  at  all  events,  I  shall  be  glad,  very  glad  to  see  you. 
I  am,  Sir,  yours  affectionately,  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

'Oxford,  March  23,  1768.' 

Upon  his  arrival  in  London  in  May,  he  surprized  me  one 
morning  with  a  visit  at  my  lodgings  in  Half-Moon-street, 
was  quite  satisfied  with  my  explanation,  and  was  in  the 
kindest  and  most  agreeable  frame  of  mind.  As  he  had  ob- 
jected to  a  part  of  one  of  his  letters  being  published,  I  thought 
it  right  to  take  this  opportunity  of  asking  him  explicitly 
whether  it  would  be  improper  to  publish  his  letters  after  his 
death.  His  answer  was,  'Nay,  Sir,  when  I  am  dead,  you 
may  do  as  you  will.' 

He  talked  in  his  usual  style  with  a  rough  contempt  of 
popular  liberty.     'They  make  a  rout  about  universal  liberty. 


156  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  fi768 

without  considering  that  all  that  is  to  be  valued,  or  indeed 
can  be  enjoyed  by  individuals,  is  private  liberty.  Political 
liberty  is  good  only  so  far  as  it  produces  private  liberty. 
Now,  Sir,  there  is  the  liberty  of  the  press,  which  you  know 
is  a  constant  topick.  Suppose  you  and  I  and  two  hundred 
more  were  restrained  from  printing  our  thoughts:  what 
then?  What  proportion  would  that  restraint  upon  us  bear 
to  the  private  happiness  of  the  nation?' 

This  mode  of  representing  the  inconveniences  of  restraint 
as  light  and  insignificant,  was  a  kind  of  sophistry  in  which  he 
delighted  to  indulge  himself,  in  opposition  to  the  extreme 
laxity  for  which  it  has  been  fashionable  for  too  many  to 
argue,  when  it  is  evident,  upon  reflection,  that  the  very 
essence  of  government  is  restraint;  and  certain  it  is,  that  as 
government  produces  rational  happiness,  too  much  restraint 
is  better  than  too  little.  But  when  restraint  is  unnecessary, 
and  so  close  as  to  gall  those  who  are  subject  to  it,  the  people 
xnay  and  ought  to  remonstrate;  and,  if  reUef  is  not  granted, 
to  resist.  Of  this  manly  and  spirited  principle,  no  man  was 
more  convinced  than  Johnson  himself. 

His  sincere  regard  for  Francis  Barber,  his  faithful  negro 
servant,  made  him  so  desirous  of  his  further  improvement, 
that  he  now  placed  him  at  a  school  at  Bishop  Stortford, 
in  Hertfordshire.  This  humane  attention  does  Johnson's 
heart  much  honour.  Out  of  many  letters  which  Mr.  Barber 
received  from  his  master,  he  has  preserved  three,  which  he 
kindly  gave  me,  and  which  I  shall  insert  according  to  their 
dates. 


'To  Mr.  Francis  Barber, 

'Dear  Francis, — I  have  been  very  much  out  of  order. 
I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  well,  and  design  to  come 
soon  to  see  you.  I  would  have  you  stay  at  Mrs.  Clapp's  for 
the  present,  till  I  can  determine  what  we  shall  do.  Be  a 
good  boy. 

'My  compliments  to  Mrs.  Clapp  and  to  Mr.  FowlQr.  I 
am,  your's  affectionately,  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

'May  28,  1768.' 


17681  AWES  SCOTCH  LITERATI  157 

Soon  afterwards,  he  supped  at  the  Crown  and  Anchor 
tavern,  in  the  Strand,  with  a  company  whom  I  collected  to 
meet  him.  They  were  Dr.  Percy,  now  Bishop  of  Dromore, 
Dr.  Douglas,  now  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  Mr.  Langton,  Dr. 
Robertson  the  Historian,  Dr.  Hugh  Blair,  and  Mr.  Thomas 
Davies,  who  wished  much  to  be  introduced  to  these  eminent 
Scotch  literati ;  but  on  the  present  occasion  he  had  very  little 
opportunity  of  hearing  them  talk,  for  with  an  excess  of  pru- 
dence, for  which  Johnson  afterwards  found  fault  with  them, 
they  hardly  opened  their  lips,  and  that  only  to  say  something 
which  they  were  certain  would  not  expose  them  to  the  sword 
of  Goliath;  such  was  their  an.xiety  for  their  fame  when  in 
the  presence  of  Johnson.  He  was  this  evening  in  remark- 
able vigour  of  mind,  and  eager  to  exert  himself  in  conversa- 
tion, which  he  did  with  great  readiness  and  fluency;  but 
I  am  sorry  to  find  that  I  have  preserved  but  a  small  part  of 
what  passed. 

He  was  vehement  against  old  Dr.  Mounsey,  of  Chelsea 
College,  as  'a  fellow  who  swore  and  talked  bawdy.'  'I  have 
been  often  in  his  company,  (said  Dr.  Percy,)  and  never  heard 
him  swear  or  talk  bawdy.'  Mr.  Davies,  who  sat  next  to  Dr. 
Percy,  having  after  this  had  some  conversation  aside  with 
him,  made  a  discovery  which,  in  his  zeal  to  pay  court  to 
Dr.  Johnson,  he  eagerly  proclaimed  aloud  from  the  foot  of 
the  table:  '0,  Sir,  I  have  found  out  a  verj'  good  reason  why 
Dr.  Percy  never  heard  Mounsey  swear  or  talk  bawdy;  for 
he  tells  me,  he  never  saw  him  but  at  the  Duke  of  Northum- 
berland's table.'  'And  so.  Sir,  (said  Johnson  loudly,  to  Dr. 
Percy,)  you  would  shield  this  man  from  the  charge  of  swear- 
ing and  talking  bawdy,  because  he  did  not  do  so  at  the 
Duke  of  Northumberland's  table.  Sir,  you  might  as  well 
tell  us  that  you  had  seen  him  hold  up  his  hand  at  the  Old 
Bailey,  and  he  neither  swore  nor  talked  bawdy;  or  that  you 
had  seen  him  in  the  cart  at  Tyburn,  and  he  neither  swore 
nor  talked  bawdy.  And  is  it  thus,  Sir,  that  you  presume  to 
controvert  what  I  have  related?'  Dr.  Johnson's  animad- 
version was  uttered  in  such  a  manner,  that  Dr.  Percy  seemed 
to  be  displeased,  and  soon  afterwards  left  the  company,  of 
which  Johnson  did  not  at  that  time  take  any  notice. 


158  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  (1768: 

Swift  having -been  mentioned,  Johnson,  as  usual,  treated 
him  with  httle  respect  as  an  authour.  Some  of  us  endeav- 
oured to  support  the  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's  by  various  argu- 
ments. One  in  particular  praised  his  Conduct  of  the  Allies. 
Johnson.  'Sir,  his  Conduct  of  the  Allies  is  a  performance  of 
very  little  ability.'  'Surely,  Sir,  (said  Dr.  Douglas,)  you 
must  allow  it  has  strong  facts.'  Johnson.  'Why  yes.  Sir; 
but  what  is  that  to  the  merit  of  the  composition?  In  the 
Sessions-paper  of  the  Old  Bailey  there  are  strong  facts. 
Housebreaking  is  a  strong  fact;  robbery  is  a  strong  fact; 
and  murder  is  a  mighty  strong  fact;  but  is  great  praise  due 
to  the  historian  of  those  strong  facts?  No,  Sir.  Swift  has 
told  what  he  had  to  tell  distinctly  enough,  but  that  is  all. 
He  had  to  count  ten,  and  he  has  counted  it  right.'  Then 
recollecting  that  Mr.  Davies,  by  acting  as  an  informer,  had 
been  the  occasion  of  his  talking  somewhat  too  harshly  to  his 
friend  Dr.  Percy,  for  which,  probably,  when  the  first  ebulli- 
tion was  over,  he  felt  some  compunction,  he  took  an  oppor- 
tunity to  give  him  a  hit;  so  added,  with  a  preparatory  laugh, 
'Why,  Sir,  Tom  Davies  might  have  written  The  Conduct  of 
the  Allies.'  Poor  Tom  being  thus  suddenly  dragged  into 
ludicrous  notice  in  presence  of  the  Scottish  Doctors,  to 
whom  he  was  ambitious  of  appearing  to  advantage,  was 
grievously  mortified.  Nor  did  his  punishment  rest  here;  for 
upon  subsequent  occasions,  whenever  he,  'statesman  all 
over,'  assumed  a  strutting  importance,  I  used  to  hail  him — 
'the  Authour  of  The  Conduct  of  the  Allies.' 

When  I  called  upon  Dr.  Johnson  next  morning,  I  found 
him  highly  satisfied  with  his  colloquial  prowess  the  preceding 
evening.  'Well,  (said  he,)  we  had  good  talk.'  Boswell. 
'Yes,  Sir;  you  tossed  and  gored  several  persons.' 

The  late  Alexander,  Earl  of  Eglintoune,  who  loved  wit 
more  than  wine,  and  men  of  genius  more  than  sycophants, 
had  a  great  admiration  of  Johnson ;  but  from  the  remarkable 
elegance  of  his  own  manners,  was,  perhaps,  too  delicately 
sensible  of  the  roughness  which  sometimes  appeared  in  John- 
son's behaviour.  One  evening  about  this  time,  when  his 
Lordship  did  me  the  honour  to  sup  at  my  lodgings  with  Dr. 
Robertson  and  several  other  men  of  literary  distinction,  he 


1769]   NOTHING  OF  THE  BEAR  BUT  HIS  SKIN     159 

regretted  that  Johnson  had  not  been  educated  with  more 
refinement,  and  lived  more  in  polished  society.  'No,  no, 
my  Lord,  (said  Signor  Baretti,)  do  with  him  what  you 
would,  he  would  always  have  been  a  bear.'  'True,  (answered 
the  Earl,  with  a  smile,)  but  he  would  have  been  a  dancing 
bear.' 

To  obviate  all  the  reflections  which  have  gone  round  the 
world  to  Johnson's  prejudice,  by  applying  to  him  the  epithet 
of  a  bear,  let  me  impress  upon  my  readers  a  just  and  happy 
saying  of  my  friend  Goldsmith,  who  knew  him  well:  'John- 
son, to  be  sure,  has  a  roughness  in  his  manner;  but  no  man 
alive  has  a  more  tender  heart.  He  has  nothing  of  the  hear 
but  his  skin.' 

1769:  ^TAT.  60.] — I  came  to  London  in  the  autumn,  and 
having  informed  him  that  I  was  going  to  be  married  in  a  few 
months,  I  wished  to  have  as  much  of  his  conversation  as  I 
could  before  engaging  in  a  state  of  life  which  would  proba- 
bly keep  me  more  in  Scotland,  and  prevent  me  seeing  him 
so  often  as  when  I  was  a  single  man;  but  I  found  he  was 
at  Brighthelmstone  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale. 

After  his  return  to  town,  we  met  frequently,  and  I  con- 
tinued the  practice  of  making  notes  of  his  conversation, 
though  not  with  so  much  assiduity  as  I  wish  I  had  done. 
At  this  time,  indeed,  I  had  a  sufficient  excuse  for  not  being 
able  to  appropriate  so  much  time  to  my  Journal;  for  Gen- 
eral Paoli,  after  Corsica  had  been  overpowered  by  the  mon- 
archy of  France,  was  now  no  longer  at  the  head  of  his  brave 
countrymen,  but  having  with  difficulty  escaped  from  his 
native  island,  had  sought  an  asylum  in  Great-Britain;  and 
it  was  my  duty,  as  well  as  my  pleasure,  to  attend  much  upon 
him.  Such  particulars  of  Johnson's  conversation  at  this 
period  as  I  have  committed  to  writing,  I  shall  here  introduce, 
without  any  strict  attention  to  methodical  arrangement. 
Sometimes  short  notes  of  different  days  shall  be  blended  to- 
gether, and  sometimes  a  day  may  seem  important  enough 
to  be  separately  distinguished. 

He  said,  he  would  not  have  Sunday  kept  with  rigid  severity 
and  gloom,  but  with  a  gravity  and  simplicity  of  behaviour. 

I  told  him  that  David  Hume  had  made  a  short  collection 


160  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i769 

of  Scotticisms.  'I  wonder,  (said  Johnson,)  that  he  should 
find  them.' 

On  the  30th  of  September  we  dined  together  at  the  Mitre. 
I  attempted  to  argue  for  the  superior  happiness  of  the  sav- 
age life,  upon  the  usual  fanciful  topicks.  Johnson.  'Sir, 
there  can  be  nothing  more  false.  The  savages  have  no 
bodily  advantages  beyond  those  of  civilised  men.  They 
have  not  better  health;  and  as  to  care  or  mental  uneasiness, 
they  are  not  above  it,  but  below  it,  like  bears.  No,  Sir; 
you  are  not  to  talk  such  paradox:  let  me  have  no  more 
on't.  It  cannot  entertain,  far  less  can  it  instruct.  Lord 
Monboddo,  one  of  your  Scotch  Judges,  talked  a  great  deal 
of  such  nonsense.  I  suffered  him  ;  but  I  will  not  suffer 
you.' — BoswELL.  'But,  Sir,  does  not  Rousseau  talk  such 
nonsense?'  Johnson.  'True,  Sir,  but  Rousseau  knows  he 
is  talking  nonsense,  and  laughs  at  the  world  for  staring  at 
him.'  BoswELL.  'How  so.  Sir?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir, 
a  man  who  talks  nonsense  so  well,  must  know  that  he  is 
talking  nonsense.  But  I  am  afraid,  (chuckling  and  laugh- 
ing,) Monboddo  does  not  know  that  he  is  talking  nonsense.' 
BoswELL.  'Is  it  wrong  then.  Sir,  to  affect  singularity,  in 
order  to  make  people  stare?'  Johnson.  'Yes,  if  you  do 
it  by  propagating  errour:  and,  indeed,  it  is  wrong  in  any 
way.  There  is  in  human  nature  a  general  inclination  to 
make  people  stare;  and  every  wise  man  has  himself  to  cure 
of  it,  and  does  cure  himself.  If  you  wish  to  make  people 
stare  by  doing  better  than  others,  why,  make  them  stare 
till  they  stare  their  eyes  out.  But  consider  how  easy  it  is 
to  make  people  stare  by  being  absurd.  I  may  do  it  by  going 
into  a  drawing-room  without  my  shoes.  You  remember  the 
gentleman  in  The  Spectator,  who  had  a  commission  of  lunacy 
taken  out  against  him  for  his  extreme  singularity,  such  as 
never  wearing  a  wig,  but  a  night-cap.  Now,  Sir,  abstractedly, 
the  night-cap  was  best;  but,  relatively,  the  advantage  was 
overbalanced  by  his  making  the  boys  run  after  him.' 

Talking  of  a  London  life,  he  said,  'The  happiness  of  Lon- 
don is  not  to  be  conceived  but  by  those  who  have  been  in 
it.  I  will  venture  to  say,  there  is  more  learning  and  science 
within  the  circumference  of  ten  miles  from  where  we  now 


1769]  ON  SECOND  MARRIAGES  161 

sit,  than  in  all  the  rest  of  the  kingdom.'  Boswell.  '  The 
only  disadvantage  is  the  great  distance  at  which  people  live 
from  one  another.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir;  but  that  is  occa- 
sioned by  the  largeness  of  it,  which  is  the  cause  of  all  the 
other  advantages.'  Boswell.  'Sometimes  I  have  been  in 
the  humour  of  wishing  to  retire  to  a  desart.'  Johnson. 
'Sir,  you  have  desart  enough  in  Scotland.' 

Although  I  had  promised  myself  a  great  deal  of  instruc- 
tive conversation  with  him  on  the  conduct  of  the  married 
state,  of  which  I  had  then  a  near  prospect,  he  did  not  say 
much  upon  that  topick.  Mr.  Seward  heard  him  once  say, 
that  *a  man  has  a  very  bad  chance  for  happiness  in  that 
state,  unless  he  marries  a  woman  of  very  strong  and  fixed 
principles  of  religion.'  He  maintained  to  me,  contrary  to 
the  common  notion,  that  a  woman  would  not  be  the  worse 
wife  for  being  learned;  in  which,  from  all  that  I  have  ob- 
served of  Artemisias,  I  humbly  differed  from  him. 

When  I  censured  a  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance  for 
marrying  a  second  time,  as  it  shewed  a  disregard  of  his  first 
wife,  he  said,  'Not  at  all.  Sir.  On  the  contrary,  were  he 
not  to  marry  again,  it  might  be  concluded  that  his  first  wife 
had  given  him  a  disgust  to  marriage;  but  by  taking  a  second 
wife  he  pays  the  highest  compliment  to  the  first,  by  shew- 
ing that  she  made  him  so  happy  as  a  married  man,  that  he 
wishes  to  be  so  a  second  time.'  So  ingenious  a  turn  did  he 
give  to  this  delicate  question.  And  yet,  on  another  occa- 
sion, he  owned  that  he  once  had  almost  asked  a  promise  of 
Mrs.  Johnson  that  she  would  not  marry  again,  but  had 
checked  himself.  Indeed,  I  cannot  help  thinking,  that  in 
his  case  the  request  would  have  been  unreasonable;  for  if 
Mrs.  Johnson  forgot,  or  thought  it  no  injury  to  the  memory 
of  her  first  love, — ^the  husband  of  her  youth  and  the  father 
of  her  children, — to  make  a  second  marriage,  why  should  she 
be  precluded  from  a  third,  should  she  be  so  inclined?  In 
Johnson's  persevering  fond  appropriation  of  his  Tetty,  even 
after  her  decease,  he  seems  totally  to  have  overlooked  the 
prior  claim  of  the  honest  Birmingham  trader.  I  presume 
that  her  having  been  married  before  had,  at  times,  given  him 
some  uneasiness;   for  I  remember  his  observing  upon  the 


162  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  .         [i769 

marriage  of  one  of  our  common  friends,  '  He  has  done  a  very- 
foolish  thing.  Sir;  he  has  married  a  widow,  when  he  might 
Jiave  had  a  maid.' 

We  drank  tea  with  Mrs.  Wilhams.  I  had  last  year  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  Mrs.  Thrale  at  Dr.  Johnson's  one  morn- 
ing, and  had  conversation  enough  with  her  to  admire  her 
talents,  and  to  shew  her  that  I  was  as  Johnsonian  as  herself. 
Dr.  Johnson  had  probably  been  kind  enough  to  speak  well 
of  me,  for  this  evening  he  delivered  me  a  very  polite  card 
from  Mr.  Thrale  and  her,  inviting  me  to  Streatham. 

On  the  6th  of  October  I  complied  with  this  obliging  in- 
vitation, and  found,  at  an  elegant  villa,  six  miles  from  town, 
every  circumstance  that  can  make  society  pleasing.  John- 
son, though  quite  at  home,  was  yet  looked  up  to  with  an 
awe,  tempered  by  affection,  and  seemed  to  be  equally  the 
■care  of  his  host  and  hostess.  I  rejoiced  at  seeing  him  so 
happy. 

He  played  off  his  wit  against  Scotland  with  a  good  hu- 
moured pleasantry,  which  gave  me,  though  no  bigot  to 
national  prejudices,  an  opportunity  for  a  little  contest  with 
him.  I  having  said  that  England  was  obliged  to  us  for  gar- 
deners, almost  all  their  good  gardeners  being  Scotchmen. 
Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  that  is  because  gardening  is  much 
more  necessary  amongst  you  than  with  us,  which  makes  so 
many  of  your  people  learn  it.  It  is  all  gardening  with  you. 
Things  which  grow  wild  here,  must  be  cultivated  with  great 
"Care  in  Scotland.  Pray  now  (throwing  himself  back  in  his 
•chair,  and  laughing,)  are  you  ever  able  to  bring  the  sloe  to 
perfection  ? ' 

I  boasted  that  we  had  the  honour  of  being  the  first  to 
-abolish  the  unhospitable,  troublesome,  and  ungracious  cus- 
tom of  giving  vails  to  servants.  Johnson.  'Sir,  you  abol- 
ished vails,  because  you  were  too  poor  to  be  able  to  give  them.' 

Mrs.  Thrale  disputed  with  him  on  the  merit  of  Prior. 
He  attacked  him  powerfully;  said  he  wrote  of  love  like  a 
man  who  had  never  felt  it;  his  love  verses  were  college 
verses;  and  he  repeated  the  song  'Alexis  shunn'd  his  fellow 
swains,'  &c.,  in  so  ludicrous  a  manner,  as  to  make  us  all 
wonder  how  any  one  could  have  been  pleased  with  such 


1769]  JOHNSON   MEETS  PAOLI  163 

fantastical  stuff.  Mrs.  Thrale  stood  to  her  gun  with  great 
courage,  in  defence  of  amorous  ditties,  which  Johnson  de- 
spised, till  he  at  last  silenced  her  by  saying,  '  My  dear  Lady, 
talk  no  more  of  this.  Nonsense  can  be  defended  but  by 
nonsense.' 

Mrs.  Thrale  then  praised  Garrick's  talent  for  light  gay 
poetry;  and,  as  a  specimen,  rejjeated  his  song  in  Florizel 
and  Perdita,  and  dwelt  with  peculiar  pleasure  on  this  line: 

'  I'd  smile  with  the  simple,  and  feed  with  the  poor.' 

Johnson.  'Nay,  my  dear  Lady,  this  will  never  do.  Poor 
David!  Smile  with  the  simple; — What  folly  is  that?  And 
who  would  feed  with  the  iX)or  that  can  help  it?  No,  no; 
let  me  smile  ^nth  the  wise,  and  feed  with  the  rich.'  I  re- 
peated this  sally  to  Garrick,  and  wondered  to  find  his  sen- 
sibility as  a  writer  not  a  Httle  irritated  by  it.  To  so6th 
liim,  I  observed,  that  Johnson  spared  none  of  us;  and  I 
quoted  the  passage  in  Horace,  in  which  he  comparas  one 
"who  attacks  his  friends  for  the  sake  of  a  laugh,  to  a  push- 
ing ox,  that  is  marked  by  a  bunch  of  hay  put  upon  his  horns: 
'foenum  habet  in  comu.'  *Ay,  (said  Garrick  vehemently,) 
he  has  a  whole  mow  of  it.' 

He  would  not  allow  much  merit  to  Wliitefield's  oratory. 
'  His  popularity.  Sir,  (said  he,)  is  chiefly  owing  to  the  peculi- 
arity of  his  manner.  He  would  be  followed  by  crowds  were 
he  to  wear  a  night-cap  in  the  pulpit,  or  were  he  to  preach 
from  a  tree.' 

On  the  evening  of  October  10,  I  presented  Dr.  Johnson 
to  General  Paoli.  I  had  greatly  wished  that  two  men,  for 
-whom  I  had  the  highest  esteem,  should  meet.  They  met 
with  a  manly  ease,  mutually  conscious  of  their  own  abilities, 
and  of  the  abilities  of  each  other.  The  General  spoke  Italian, 
and  Dr.  Johnson  English,  and  understood  one  another  very 
well,  with  a  little  aid  of  interpretation  from  me,  in  which 
I  compared  myself  to  an  isthmus  which  joins  two  great 
continents.  Upon  Johnson's  approach,  the  General  said, 
■•From  what  I  have  read  of  your  works.  Sir,  and  from  what 
Mr.  Boswell  has  told  me  of  you,  I  have  long  held  you  in 
^aat  veneration.'    The  General  talked  of  languages  being 


164  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [176» 

formed  on  the  particular  notions  and  manners  of  a  people, 
without  knowing  which,  we  cannot  know  the  language.  We 
may  know  the  direct  signification  of  single  words;  but  by 
these  no  beauty  of  expression,  no  sally  of  genius,  no  wit  is 
conveyed  to  the  mind.  All  this  must  be  by  allusion  to 
other  ideas.  'Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  you  talk  of  language,  as 
if  you  had  never  done  any  thing  else  but  study  it,  instead 
of  governing  a  nation.'  The  General  said,  'Qiiesto  e  un 
troppo  gran  complimento;^  this  is  too  great  a  compliment. 
Johnson  answered,  'I  should  have  thought  so.  Sir,  if  I  had 
not  heard  you  talk.'  The  General  asked  him,  what  he 
thought  of  the  spirit  of  infidelity  which  was  so  prevalent. 
Johnson.  'Sir,  this  gloom  of  infidelity,  I  hope,  is  only  a 
transient  cloud  passing  through  the  hemisphere,  which  will 
soon  be  dissipated,  and  the  sun  break  forth  with  his  usual 
splendour.'  'You  think  then,  (said  the  General,)  that  they 
will  change  their  principles  like  their  clothes.'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  if  they  bestow  no  more  thought  on  principles 
than  on  dress,  it  must  be  so.'  The  General  said,  that  'a 
great  part  of  the  fashionable  infidelity  was  owing  to  a  desire 
of  shewing  courage.  Men  who  have  no  opportunities  of 
shewing  it  as  to  things  in  this  life,  take  death  and  futurity 
as  objects  on  which  to  display  it.'  Johnson.  'That  is 
mighty  foolish  affectation.  Fear  is  one  of  the  passions  of 
human  nature,  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  divest  it.  You 
remember  that  the  Emperour  Charles  V,  when  he  read  upon 
the  tomb-stone  of  a  Spanish  nobleman,  "Here  lies  one  who 
never  knew  fear,"  wittily  said,  "Then  he  never  snuffed  a 


M  J 


candle  with  his  fingers 

Dr.  Johnson  went  home  with  me,  and  drank  tea  till  late 
in  the  night.  He  said,  'General  Paoli  had  the  loftiest  port 
of  any  man  he  had  ever  seen.'  He  denied  that  military 
men  were  always  the  best  bred  men.  'Perfect  good  breed- 
ing,' he  observed,  'consists  in  having  no  particular  mark  of 
any  profession,  but  a  general  elegance  of  manners;  whereas, 
in  a  military  man,  you  can  commonly  distinguish  the  brand 
of  a  soldier,  I'homme  d'epee.' 

Dr.  Johnson  shunned  to-night  any  discussion  of  the  per- 
plexed question  of  fate  and  free  will,  which  I  attempted  to 


17691  GOLDSMITH'S  COAT  165 

agitate.     'Sir,  (said  he,)  we  know  our  will  is  free,  and  there's 
an  end  on't.' 

He  honoured  me  with  his  company  at  dinner  on  the  16th 
of  October,  at  my  lodgings  in  Old  Bond-street,  with  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  Mr.  Garrick,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  Mr.  Murphy, 
Mr.  Bickerstaff,  and  Mr.  Thomas  Davies.  Garrick  played 
round  him  with  a  fond  vivacity,  taking  hold  of  the  breasts 
of  his  coat,  and,  looking  up  in  his  face  with  a  lively  arch- 
ness, complimented  him  on  the  good  health  which  he  seemed 
then  to  enjoy;  while  the  sage,  shaking  his  head,  beheld  him 
with  a  gentle  complacency.  One  of  the  company  not  being 
come  at  the  appointed  hour,  I  proposed,  as  usual  upon  such 
occasions,  to  order  dinner  to  be  served;  adding,  'Ought  six 
people  to  be  kept  waiting  for  one?'  'Why,  yes,  (answered 
Johnson,  with  a  delicate  humanity,)  if  the  one  will  suffer 
more  by  your  sitting  down,  than  the  six  will  do  by  waiting.' 
Goldsmith,  to  divert  the  tedious  minutes,  strutted  about, 
bragging  of  his  dress,  and  I  believe  was  seriously  vain  of  it, 
for  his  mind  was  wonderfully  prone  to  such  impressions. 
'Come,  come,  (said  Garrick,)  talk  no  more  of  that.  You 
are,  perhaps,  the  worst — eh,  eh ! ' — Goldsmith  was  eagerly 
attempting  to  interrupt  him,  when  Garrick  went  on,  laughing 
ironically,  'Nay,  you  will  always  look  like  a  gentleman; 
but  I  am  talking  of  being  well  or  ill  drest.'  'Well,  let  me  tell 
you,  (said  Goldsmith,)  when  my  tailor  brought  home  my 
bloom-coloured  coat,  he  said,  "Sir,  I  have  a  favour  to  beg 
of  you.  When  any  body  asks  you  who  made  your  clothes, 
be  pleased  to  mention  John  Filby,  at  the  Harrow,  in  Water- 
lane.'"  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  that  was  because  he  knew 
fhe  strange  colour  would  attract  crowds  to  gaze  at  it,  and 
thus  they  might  hear  of  him,  and  see  how  well  he  could 
make  a  coat  even  of  so  absurd  a  colour.' 

After  dinner  our  conversation  first  turned  upon  Pope. 
Johnson  said,  his  characters  of  men  were  admirably  drawn, 
those  of  women  not  so  well.  He  repeated  to  us,  in  his  forci- 
ble melodious  manner,  the  concluding  lines  of  the  Dunciad. 
While  he  was  talking  loudly  in  praise  of  those  lines,  one  of 
the  company*  ventured  to  say,  'Too  fine  for  such  a  poem: — 
'Everyone  guesses  that  'one  of  the  company'  was  Boswell. — Hill. 


^66  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  ii760 

a  poem  on  what?'  Johnson,  (with  a  disdainful  look,) 
'Why,  on  dunces.  It  was  worth  while  being  a  dunce  then. 
Ah,  Sir,  hadst  thou  lived  in  those  days !  It  is  not  worth 
while  being  a  dunce  now,  when  there  are  no  wits.'  Bicker- 
staff  observed,  as  a  peculiar  circumstance,  that  Pope's  fame 
was  higher  when  he  was  alive  than  it  was  then.  Johnson 
said,  his  Pastorals  were  poor  things,  though  the  versification 
was  fine.  He  told  us,  Avith  high  satisfaction,  the  anecdote 
of  Pope's  inquiring  who  was  the  authour  of  his  London,  and 
saying,  he  will  be  soon  deterre.  He  observed,  that  in  Dry- 
den's  poetry  there  were  passages  drawn  from  a  profundity 
which  Pope  could  never  reach.  He  repeated  some  fine  lines 
on  love,  by  the  former,  (which  I  have  now  forgotten,)  and 
gave  great  applause  to  the  character  of  Zimri.  Goldsmith 
said,  that  Pope's  character  of  Addison  shewed  a  deep  knowl- 
edge of  the  human  heart.  Johnson  said,  that  the  description 
of  the  temple,  in  The  Mourning  Bride,  was  the  finest  poetical 
passage  he  had  ever  read;  he  recollected  none  in  Shakspeare 
equal  to  it.  'But,  (said  Garrick,  all  alarmed  for  the  'God 
of  his  idolatry,')  we  know  not  the  extent  and  variety  of  his 
powers.  We  are  to  suppose  there  are  such  passages  in  his 
works.  Shakspeare  must  not  suffer  from  the  badness  of 
our  memories.'  Johnson,  diverted  by  this  enthusiastick 
jealousy,  went  on  with  greater  ardour:  'No,  Sir;  Congreve 
has  nature;'  (smiling  on  the  tragick  eagerness  of  Garrjck;) 
but  composing  himself,  he  added,  '  Sir,  this  is  not  comparing 
Congreve  on  the  whole,  with  Shakspeare  on  the  whole;  but 
only  maintaining  that  Congreve  has  one  finer  passage  than 
any  that  can  be  found  in  Shakspeare.  Sir,  a  man  may  have 
no  more  than  ten  guineas  in  the  world,  but  he  may  have 
those  ten  guineas  in  one  piece;  and  so  may  have  a  finer  piece 
than  a  man  who  has  ten  thousand  pounds:  but  then  he  has 
only  one  ten-guinea  piece.  What  I  mean  is,  that  you  can 
shew  me  no  passage  where  there  is  simply  a  description  of 
material  objects,  without  any  intermixture  of  moral  notions^ 
which  produces  such  an  effect.'  Mr.  Murphy  mentioned 
Shakspeare's  description  of  the  night  before  the  battle  of 
Agincourt;  but  it  was  observed,  it  had  men  in  it.  Mr. 
Da  vies  suggested  the  speech  of  Juliet,  in  which  she  figurea 


1769]  ON  SHERIDAN  167 

herself  awaking  in  the  tomb  of  her  ancestors.  Some  one 
mentioned  the  description  of  Dover  Cliff.  Johnson.  'No, 
Sir;  it  should  be  all  precipice, — all  vacuum.  The  crows 
impede  j'our  fall.  The  diminished  appearance  of  the  boats, 
and  other  circumstances,  are  all  very  good  descriptions;  but 
do  not  impress  the  mind  at  once  with  the  horrible  idea  of 
immense  height.  The  impression  is  divided;  you  pass  on 
by  computation,  from  one  stage  of  the  tremendous  space  to 
another.  Had  the  girl  in  The  Mourning  Bride  said,  she 
could  not  cast  her  shoe  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  pillars 
in  the  temple,  it  would  not  have  aided  the  idea,  but  weak- 
ened it.' 

Talking  of  a  Barrister  who  had  a  bad  utterance,  some  one, 
(to  rouse  Johnson,)  wickedly  said,  that  he  was  unfortunate 
in  not  having  been  taught  oratory  by  Sheridan.  Johnson. 
'Nay,  Sir,  if  he  had  been  taught  by  Sheridan,  he  would  have 
cleared  the  room.'  G.vrrick.  'Sheridan  has  too  much 
vanity  to  be  a  good  man.'  We  shall  now  see  Johnson's 
mode  of  defending  a  man;  taking  him  into  his  own  hands, 
and  discriminating.  Johnson.  'No,  Sir.  There  is,  to  be 
sure,  in  Sheridan,  something  to  reprehend,  and  every  thing 
to  laugh  at;  but.  Sir,  he  is  not  a  bad  man.  No,  Sir;  were 
mankind  to  be  divided  into  good  and  bad,  he  would  stand 
considerably  within  the  ranks  of  good.  And,  Sir,  it  must  be 
allowed  that  Sheridan  excels  in  plain  declamation,  though 
he  can  exhibit  no  character.' 

Mrs.  Montagu,  a  lady  distinguished  for  having  written  an 
Essay  on  Shakspeare,  being  mentioned;  Reynolds.  'I 
think  that  essay  does  her  honour.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir; 
it  does  her  honour,  but  it  would  do  nobody  else  honour.  I 
have,  indeed,  not  read  it  all.  But  when  I  take  up  the  end  of 
a  web,  and  find  it  packthread,  I  do  not  exp)ect,  by  looking 
further,  to  find  embroidery.  Sir,  I  will  venture  to  say,  there 
is  not  one  sentence  of  true  criticism  in  her  book.'  Garrick. 
'But,  Sir,  surely  it  shews  how  much  Voltaire  has  mistaken 
Shakspeare,  which  nobody  else  has  done.'  Johnson.  'Sir, 
nobody  else  has  thought  it  worth  while.  And  what  merit  is 
there  in  that?  You  may  as  well  praise  a  schoolmaster  for 
whipping  a  boy  who  has  construed  ill.    No,  Sir,  there  is  no 


168  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i76flr 

real  criticism  in  it:  none  shewing  the  beauty  of  thought,  as 
formed  on  the  workings  of  the  human  heart.' 

The  admirers  of  this  Essay  may  be  offended  at  the  sUght- 
ing  manner  in  which  Johnson  spoke  of  it;  but  let  it  be  re- 
membered, that  he  gave  his  honest  opinion  unbiassed  by 
any  prejudice,  or  any  proud  jealousy  of  a  woman  intruding 
herself  into  the  chair  of  criticism;  for  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
has  told  me,  that  when  the  Essay  first  came  out,  and  it  was 
not  known  who  had  written  it,  Johnson  wondered  how  Sir 
Joshua  could  like  it.  At  this  time  Sir  Joshua  himself  had 
received  no  information  concerning  the  authour,  except 
being  assured  by  one  of  our  most  eminent  literati,  that  it 
was  clear  its  authour  did  not  know  the  Greek  tragedies  in 
the  original.  One  day  at  Sir  Joshua's  table,  when  it  was 
related  that  Mrs.  Montagu,  in  an  excess  of  compliment  to 
the  authour  of  a  modern  tragedy,  had  exclaimed,  'I  trem- 
ble for  Shakspeare;'  Johnson  said,   'When  Shakspeare  has 

got for  his  rival,  and  Mrs.  Montagu  for  his  defender, 

he  is  in  a  poor  state  indeed.' 

On  Thursday,  October  19,  I  passed  the  evening  with  him 
at  his  house.  He  advised  me  to  complete  a  Dictionary  of 
words  jjeculiar  to  Scotland,  of  which  I  shewed  him  a  speci- 
men. 'Sir,  (said  he,)  Ray  has  made  a  collection  of  north- 
country  words.  By  collecting  those  of  your  country,  you 
will  do  a  useful  thing  towards  the  history  of  the  language. 
He  bade  me  also  go  on  with  collections  which  I  was  making 
upon  the  antiquities  of  Scotland.  'Make  a  large  book;  a 
folio.'  BoswELL.  'But  of  what  use  will  it  be,  Sir?'  John- 
son.    'Never  mind  the  use;  do  it.' 

I  complained  that  he  had  not  mentioned  Garrick  in  his 
Preface  to  Shakspeare;  and  asked  him  if  he  did  not  admire 
him.  Johnson.  'Yes,  as  "a  poor  player,  who  frets  and 
struts  his  hour  upon  the  stage;" — as  a  shadow.'  Boswell. 
'But  has  he  not  brought  Shakspeare  into  notice?'  John- 
son. 'Sir,  to  allow  that,  would  be  to  lampoon  the  age. 
Many  of  Shakspeare's  plays  are  the  worse  for  being  acted: 
Macbeth,  for  instance.'  Boswell.  'What,  Sir,  is  nothing 
gained  by  decoration  and  action?  Indeed,  I  do  wish  that 
you   had   mentioned   Garrick.'    Johnson.     'My  dear   Sir, 


17691  FEAR  OF  DEATH  169 

had  I  mentioned  him,  I  must  have  mentioned  many  more: 
Mrs.  Pritchard,  Mrs.  Gibber, — nay,  and  Mr.  Gibber  too; 
he  too  altered  Shakspeare.'  Boswell.  'You  have  read  his 
apology,  Sir?'  Johnson.  'Yes,  it  is  very  entertaining. 
But  as  for  Gibber  himself,  taking  from  his  conversation  all 
that  he  ought  not  to  have  said,  he  was  a  poor  creature.  I 
remember  when  he  brought  me  one  of  his  Odes  to  have  my 
opinion  of  it;  I  could  not  bear  such  nonsense,  and  would  not 
let  him  read  it  to  the  end;  so  little  respect  had  I  for  that 
great  man!  (laughing.)  Yet  I  remember  Richardson  won- 
dering that  I  could  treat  him  with  familiarity.' 

I  mentioned  to  him  that  I  had  seen  the  execution  of  several 
convicts  at  Tyburn,  two  days  before,  and  that  none  of  them 
seemed  to  be  under  any  concern.  Johnson.  '  Most  of  them, 
Sir,  have  never  thought  at  all.'  Boswell.  'But  is  not  the 
fear  of  death  natural  to  man?'  Johnson.  'So  much  so, 
Sir,  that  the  whole  of  life  is  but  keeping  away  the  thoughts 
of  it.'  He  then,  in  a  low  and  earnest  tone,  talked  of  his 
meditating  upwn  the  aweful  hour  of  his  own  dissolution,  and 
in  what  manner  he  should  conduct  himself  upon  that  occa- 
sion: 'I  know  not  (said  he,)  whether  I  should  wish  to  have  a 
friend  by  me,  or  have  it  all  between  God  and  myself.' 

Talking  of  our  feeling  for  the  distresses  of  others;— John- 
son. 'Why,  Sir,  there  is  much  noise  made  about  it,  but  it 
is  greatly  exaggerated.  No,  Sir,  we  have  a  certain  degree  of 
feeling  to  prompt  us  to  do  good :  more  than  that.  Providence 
does  not  intend.  It  would  be  misery  to  no  purpx)se.'  Bos- 
well. 'But  suppose  now.  Sir,  that  one  of  your  intimate 
friends  were  apprehended  for  an  offence  for  which  he  might 
be  hanged.'  Johnson.  'I  should  do  what  I  could  to  bail 
him,  and  give  him  any  other  assistance;  but  if  he  were  once 
fairly  hanged,  I  should  not  suffer.'  Boswell.  'Would  you 
eat  your  dinner  that  day.  Sir?'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir;  and 
eat  it  as  if  he  were  eating  it  with  me.  Why,  there's  Baretti, 
who  is  to  be  tried  for  his  life  to-morrow,  friends  have  risen 
up  for  him  on  every  side;  yet  if  he  should  be  hanged,  none 
of  them  will  eat  a  slice  of  plumb-pudding  the  less.  Sir,  that 
sjTiipathetic  feeling  goes  a  very  little  way  in  depressing  the 
mind.' 


170  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i769 

I  told  him  that  I  had  dined  lately  at  Foote's,  who  shewed 
me  a  letter  which  he  had  received  from  Tom  Davies,  telling 
him  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  sleep  from  the  concern  which 
he  felt  on  account  of  '  This  sad  affair  of  Baretti,'  begging  of 
him  to  try  if  he  could  suggest  any  thing  that  might  be  of 
service;  and,  at  the  same  time,  recommending  to  him  an 
industrious  young  man  who  kept  a  pickle-shop.  Johnson. 
'Ay,  Sir.  here  you  have  a  specimen  of  human  sympathy; 
a  friend  hanged,  and  a  cucumber  pickled.  We  know  not 
whether  Baretti  or  the  pickle-man  has  kept  Davies  from 
sleep;  nor  does  he  know  himself .  And  as  to  his  not  sleeping, 
Sir;  Tom  Davies  is  a  very  great  man;  Tom  has  been  upon 
the  stage,  and  knows  how  to  do  those  things.  I  have  not 
been  upon  the  stage,  and  cannot  do  those  things.'  Bos- 
WELL.  'I  have  often  blamed  myself.  Sir,  for  not  feeling  for 
others  as  sensibly  as  many  say  they  do.'  Johnson.  'Sir, 
don't  be  duped  by  them  any  more.  You  will  find  these  very 
feeling  people  are  not  very  ready  to  do  you  good.  They 
pay  you  by  feeling.' 

BoswELL.  'Foote  has  a  great  deal  of  humour?'  John- 
son. 'Yes,  Sir.'  Boswell.  'He  has  a  singular  talent  of 
exhibiting  character.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  it  is  not  a  talent;  it 
is  a  vice;  it  is  what  others  abstain  from.  It  is  not  comedy, 
which  exhibits  the  character  of  a  species,  as  that  of  a  miser 
gathered  from  many  misers:  it  is  farce,  which  exhibits  in- 
dividuals.' BoswELL.  '  Did  not  he  think  of  exhibiting  you, 
Sir?'  Johnson.  'Sir,  fear  restrained  him;  he  knew  I 
would  have  broken  his  bones.  I  would  have  saved  him  the 
trouble  of  cutting  off  a  leg;  I  would  not  have  left  him  a  leg 
to  cut  ofif.'  BoswELL.  'Pray,  Sir,  is  not  Foote  an  infidel?' 
Johnson.  'I  do  not  know.  Sir,  that  the  fellow  is  an  infidel; 
but  if  he  be  an  infidel,  he  is  an  infidel  as  a  dog  is  an  infidel; 
that  is  to  say,  he  has  never  thought  upon  the  subject^' 
BoswELL.  'I  supfKJse,  Sir,  he  has  thought  superficially,  and 
seized  the  first  notions  which  occurred  to  his  mind.'    John- 

1  When  Mr.  Foote  was  at  Edinburgh,  he  thought  fit  to  entertain  a 
numerous  Scotch  company,  with  a  great  deal  of  coarse  jocularity,  at 
the  expense  of  Dr.  Johnson,  imagining  it  would  be  acceptable.  I  felt 
this  as  not  civil  to  me ;  but  sat  very  patiently  till  he  had  exhausted  his 
merriment  on  that  subject;    and  then  observed,  that  surely  Johnson 


1769]  JOHNSON  IN  COURT  171 

fiON.  'Why  then,  Sir,  still  he  is  like  a  dog,  that  snatches  the 
piece  next  him.  Did  you  never  observe  that  dogs  have  not 
the  power  of  comparing?  A  dog  will  take  a  small  bit  of 
meat  as  readily  as  a  large,  when  both  are  before  him.' 

BoswELL.  'What  do  you  think  of  Dr.  Young's  Night 
Thotights,  Sir?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  there  are  very  fine 
things  in  them.'  Boswell.  'Is  there  not  less  religion  in 
the  nation  now,  Sir,  than  there  was  formerly?'  Johnson. 
*I  don't  know.  Sir,  that  there  is.'  Boswell.  'For  instance, 
there  used  to  be  a  chaplain  in  every  great  family,  which  we 
do  not  find  now.'  Johnson.  'Neither  do  you  find  any  of 
the  state  servants  which  great  families  used  formerly  to 
have.  There  is  a  change  of  modes  in  the  whole  department 
of  life.' 

Next  day,  October  20,  he  appeared,  for  the  only  time  I 
suppose  in  his  life,  as  a  witness  in  a  Court  of  Justice,  being 
called  to  give  evidence  to  the  character  of  Mr.  Baretti, 
"who  having  stabbed  a  man  in  the  street,  was  arraigned  at 
the  Old  Bailey  for  murder.  Never  did  such  a  constellation 
of  genius  enlighten  the  aweful  Sessions-House,  emphatically 
called  Justice  Hall;  Mr.  Burke,  Mr.  Garrick,  Mr.  Beau- 
clerk,  and  Dr.  Johnson:  and  undoubtedly  their  favourable 
testimony  had  due  weight  with  the  Court  and  Jury.  John- 
son gave  his  evidence  in  a  slow,  deliberate,  and  distinct  man- 
ner, which  was  uncommonly  impressive.  It  is  well  known 
that  Mr.  Baretti  was  acquitted. 

On  the  26th  of  October,  we  dined  together  at  the  Mitre 
tavern.  I  found  fault  with  Foote  for  indulging  his  talent  of 
ridicule  at  the  expence  of  his  visitors,  which  I  colloquially 
termed  making  fools  of  his  company.  Johnson.  'Why, 
Sir,  when  you  go  to  see  Foote,  you  do  not  go  to  see  a  saint: 
you  go  to  see  a  man  who  will  be  entertained  at  your  house, 
and  then  bring  you  on  a  publick  stage;  who  will  entertain 
you  at  his  house,  for  the  very  purpose  of  bringing  you  on  a 
publick  stage.    Sir,  he  does  not  make  fools  of  his  company; 

must  be  allowed  to  have  some  sterling  wit,  and  that  I  had  heard  him 
say  a  very  good  thing  of  Mr.  Foot^  himself.  '  Ah,  my  old  friend  Sam 
(cried  Foote.)  no  man  says  better  tilings;  do  let  us  have  it."  Upon 
which  I  told  the  above  story,  which  produced  a  very  loud  laugh  from 
the  company.     But  I  never  saw  Foote  so  disconcerted. — BoawBLU 


172  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i769 

they  whom  he  exposes  are  fools  already :  he  only  brings  them 
into  action.' 

We  went  home  to  his  house  to  tea.  Mrs.  Williams  made 
it  with  sufficient  dexterity,  notwithstanding  her  blindness, 
though  her  manner  of  satisfying  herself  that  the  cups  were 
full  enough  appeared  to  me  a  little  aukward;  for  I  fancied 
she  put  her  finger  down  a  certain  way,  till  she  felt  the  tea 
touch  it.^  In  my  first  elation  at  being  allowed  the  privilege 
of  attending  Dr.  Johnson  at  his  late  visits  to  this  lady,  which 
was  like  being  e  secretioribus  consiliis,  I  willingly  drank  cup 
after  cup,  as  if  it  had  been  the  Heliconian  spring.  But  as 
the  charm  of  novelty  went  off,  I  grew  more  fastidious;  and 
besides,  I  discovered  that  she  was  of  a  peevish  temper. 

There  was  a  pretty  large  circle  this  evening.  Dr.  John- 
son was  in  very  good  humour,  lively,  and  ready  to  talk  upon 
all  subjects.  Mr.  Fergusson,  the  self-taught  philosopher, 
told  him  of  a  new-invented  machine  which  went  without 
horses:  a  man  who  sat  in  it  turned  a  handle,  which  worked 
a  spring  that  drove  it  forward.  'Then,  Sir,  (said  Johnson,) 
what  is  gained  is,  the  man  has  his  choice  whether  he  will 
move  himself  alone,  or  himself  and  the  machine  too.'  Do- 
minicetti  being  mentioned,  he  would  not  allow  him  any 
merit.  'There  is  nothing  in  all  this  boasted  system.  No, 
Sir;  medicated  baths  can  be  no  better  than  warm  water: 
their  only  effect  can  be  that  of  tepid  moisture.'  One  of  the 
company  took  the  other  side,  maintaining  that  medicines 
of  various  sorts,  and  some  too  of  most  powerful  effect,  are 
introduced  into  the  human  frame  by  the  medium  of  the  pores ; 
and,  therefore,  when  warm  water  is  impregnated  with  salu- 
tiferous  substances,  it  may  produce  great  effects  as  a  bath. 
This  appeared  to  me  very  satisfactory.  Johnson  did  not 
answer  it;  but  talking  for  victory,  and  determined  to  be 
master  of  the  field,  he  had  recourse  to  the  device  which 
Goldsmith  imputed  to  him  in  the  witty  words  of  one  of 
Gibber's  comedies:  'There  is  no  arguing  with  Johnson;  for 
when  his  pistol  misses  fire,  he  knocks  you  down  with  the 
butt  end  of  it.'    He  turned  to  the  gentleman,  'Well,  Sir, 

>  Boswell  afterwards  learned  that  sbe  felt  the  rising  tea  on  the  outside 
of  the  cup. — Ed. 


17691  ON  REARING  A  CHILD  173 

go  to  Dominicetti,  and  get  thyself  fumigated;  but  be  sure 
that  the  steam  be  directed  to  thy  head,  for  that  is  the  peccant 
part.'  This  produced  a  triumphant  roar  of  laughter  from 
the  motley  assembly  of  philosophers,  printers,  and  depen- 
dents, male  and  female. 

I  know  not  how  so  whimsical  a  thought  came  into  my 
mind,  but  I  asked,  '  If,  Sir,  you  were  shut  up  in  a  castle,  and 
a  newborn  child  with  you,  what  would  you  do?'  Johnson. 
'  Why,  Sir,  I  should  not  much  like  my  company.'  Boswell. 
'But  would  you  take  the  trouble  of  rearing  it?'  He  seemed, 
as  may  well  be  supposed,  unwilling  to  pursue  the  subject: 
but  upon  my  persevering  in  my  question,  replied,  'Why  yes, 
Sir,  I  would;  but  I  must  have  all  conveniencies.  If  I  had  no 
garden,  I  would  make  a  shed  on  the  roof,  and  take  it  there 
for  fresh  air.  I  should  feed  it,  and  wash  it  much,  and  with 
warm  water  to  please  it,  not  with  cold  water  to  give  it  pain.' 
Boswell.  '  But,  Sir,  does  not  heat  relax  ? '  Johnson.  '  Sir, 
you  are  not  to  imagine  the  water  is  to  be  very  hot.  I  would 
not  coddle  the  child.  No,  Sir,  the  hardy  method  of  treating 
children  does  no  good.  I'll  take  you  five  children  from 
London,  who  shall  cuff  five  Highland  children.  Sir,  a  man 
bred  in  London  will  carry  a  burthen,  or  nm,  or  wrestle,  as 
well  as  a  man  brought  up  in  the  hardiest  manner  in  the 
country.'  Boswell.  'Good  living,  I  suppose,  makes  the 
Londoners  strong.'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  I  don't  know 
that  it  does.  Our  Chairmen  from  Ireland,  who  are  as 
strong  men  as  any,  have  been  brought  up  upon  potatoes. 
Quantity  makes  up  for  quality.'  Boswell.  'Would  you 
teach  this  child  that  I  have  furnished  you  with,  any  thing?' 
Johnson.  '  No,  I  should  not  be  apt  to  teach  it.'  Boswell. 
'Would  not  you  have  a  pleasure  in  teaching  it?'  Johnson. 
'No,  Sir,  I  should  not  have  a  pleasure  in  teaching  it.'  Bos- 
well. 'Have  you  not  a  pleasure  in  teaching  men? — 
There  I  have  you.  You  have  the  same  pleasure  in  teaching 
men,  that  I  should  have  in  teaching  children.'  Johnson. 
'  Why,  something  about  that.' 

I  had  hired  a  Bohemian  as  my  servant  while  I  remained 
in  London,  and  being  much  pleased  with  him,  I  asked  Dr. 
Johnson  whether  his  being  a  Roman  Catholick  should  pre- 


174  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i769 

vent  my  taking  him  with  me  to  Scotland.  Johnson.  '  Why 
no,  Sir,  if  he  has  no  objection,  you  can  have  none.'  Bos- 
well.  *So,  Sir,  3'ou  are  no  great  enemy  to  the  Romaa 
Catholick  religion.'  Johnson.  'No  more.  Sir,  than  to  the 
Presbyterian  religion.'  Boswell.  'You  are  joking.'  John- 
son. 'No,  Sir,  I  really  think  so.  Nay,  Sir,  of  the  two,  I 
prefer  the  Popish.'  Boswell.  'How  so.  Sir?'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  the  Presbyterians  have  no  church,  no  apostolical 
ordination.'  Boswell.  'And  do  you  think  that  absolutely 
essential.  Sir?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  as  it  was  an  apos- 
tolical institution,  I  think  it  is  dangerous  to  be  without  it. 
And,  Sir,  the  Presbyterians  have  no  public  worship:  they 
have  no  form  of  prayer  in  which  they  know  they  are  to  join. 
They  go  to  hear  a  man  pray,  and  are  to  judge  whether  they 
will  join  with  him.' 

I  proceeded:  ''What  do  you  think.  Sir,  of  Purgatory,  as 
believed  by  the  Roman  Catholicks?'  Johnson.  'Why, 
Sir,  it  is  a  very  harmless  doctrine.  They  are  of  opinioa 
that  the  generality  of  mankind  are  neither  so  obstinately 
wicked  as  to  deserve  everlasting  punishment,  nor  so  good 
as  to  merit  being  admitted  into  the  society  of  blessed  spirits; 
and  therefore  that  God  is  graciously  pleased  to  allow  of  a 
middle  state,  where  they  may  be  purified  by  certain  degrees 
of  suffering.  You  see.  Sir,  there  is  nothing  unreasonable  in 
this.'  Boswell.  'But  then,  Sir,  their  masses  for  the 
dead?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  if  it  be  once  established  that 
there  are  souls  in  purgatory,  it  is  as  proper  to  pray  for  iherrif 
as  for  our  brethren  of  mankind  who  are  yet  in  this  life.* 
Boswell.  'The  idolatry  of  the  Mass?'  Johnson.  'Sir, 
there  is  no  idolatry  in  the  Mass.  They  believe  God  to  be 
there,  and  they  adore  him.'  Boswell.  'The  worship  of 
Saints  ? '  Johnson.  '  Sir,  they  do  not  worship  saints ;  they 
invoke  them;  they  only  ask  their  prayers.  I  am  talking  all 
this  time  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  I  grant 
you  that  in  practice,  Purgatory  is  made  a  lucrative  imposi- 
tion, and  that  the  people  do  become  idolatrous  as  they  recom- 
mend themselves  to  the  tutelary  protection  of  particular 
saints.  I  think  their  giving  the  sacrament  only  in  one  kind 
is  criminal,  because  it  is  contrary  to  the  express  institution. 


1769]  ON  DEATH  175 

of  Chmst,  and  I  wonder  how  the  CouncU  of  Trent  admitted 
it.'  BoswELL.  'Confession?'  Johnson.  'Why,  I  don't 
know  but  that  is  a  good  thing.  The  scripture  says,  "  Confess 
your  faults  one  to  another,"  and  the  priests  confess  as  well 
as  the  laity.  Then  it  must  be  considered  that  their  absolu- 
tion is  only  upon  repentance,  and  often  ujx)n  penance  also. 
You  think  your  sins  may  be  forgiven  without  penance,  upon 
repentance  alone.'  j 

WTien  we  were  alone,  I  introduced  thei  subject  of  death,, 
and  endeavoured  to  maintain  that  the  fear  of  it  might  be 
got  over.  I  told  him  that  David  Hume  said  to  me,  he  was 
no  more  uneasy  to  think  he  should  not  be  after  this  life, 
than  that  he  had  not  been  before  he  began  to  exist.  John- 
son. 'Sir,  if  he  really  thinks  so,  his  perceptions  are  dis^ 
turbed;  he  is  mad:  if  he  does  not  think  sol  he  lies.  He 
may  tell  you,  he  holds  his  finger  in  the  flame  of  a  candle, 
without  feeling  pain;  would  you  believe  him?  When  he 
dies,  he  at  least  gives  up  all  he  has.'  Boswell.  'Foote, 
Sir,  told  me,  that  when  he  was  very  ill  he  was  not  afraid  to 
die.'  Johnson.  'It  is  not  true,  Sir,-  Hold  a  pistol  to 
Foote's  breast,  or  to  Hume's  breast,  and  threaten  to  kill 
them,  and  you'll  see  how  they  behave.'  Boswell.  'But 
may  we  not  fortify  our  minds  for  the  approach  of  death?' 
Here  I  am  sensible  I  was  in  the  wrong,  to  bring  before  his 
\new  what  he  ever  looked  upon  with  horrour;  for  although 
when  in  a  celestial  frame,  in  his  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  he 
has  supposed  death  to  be  'kind  Nature's  signal  for  retreat,' 
from  this  state  of  being  to  'a  happier  seat,'  his  thoughts 
upon  this  aweful  change  were  in  general  full  of  dismal  appre- 
hensions. His  mind  resembled  the  vast  amphitheatre,  the 
Colisa-um  at  Rome.  In  the  centre  stood  his  judgement,^ 
which,  like  a  mighty  gladiator,  combated  those  apprehen- 
sions that,  like  the  wild  beasts  of  the  Arena,  were  all  around 
in  cells,  ready  to  be  let  out  upon  him.  After  a  conflict,  he 
drives  them  back  into  their  dens;  but  not  killing  them,, 
they  were  still  assailing  him.  To  my  question,  whether  we 
might  not  fortify  our  minds  for  the  approach  of  death,  he 
answered,  in  a  passion,  'No,  Sir,  let  it  alone.  It  matters 
not  how  a  man  dies,  but  how  he  lives.     The  act  of  dying  is 


176  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i769 

not  of  importance,  it  lasts  so  short  a  time.'  He  added, 
(with  an  earnest  look,)  'A  man  knows  it  must  be  so,  and  sub- 
mits.   It  will  do  him  no  good  to  whine.' 

I  attempted  to  continue  the  conversation.  He  was  so 
provoked,  that  he  said,  'Give  us  no  more  of  this;'  and  was 
thrown  into  such  a  state  of  agitation,  that  he  expressed 
himself  in  a  way  that  alarmed  and  distressed  me;  shewed 
an  impatience  that  I  should  leave  him,  and  when  I  was 
going  away,  called  to  me  sternly,  'Don't  let  us  meet  to- 
morrow.' 

I  went  home  exceedingly  uneasy.  All  the  harsh  observa- 
tions which  I  had  ever  heard  made  upon  his  character, 
crowded  into  my  mind;  and  I  seemed  to  myself  like  the 
man  who  had  put  his  head  into  the  lion's  mouth  a  great 
many  times  with  perfect  safety,  but  at  last  had  it  bit  off. 

Next  morning  I  sent  him  a  note,  stating,  that  I  might 
have  been  in  the  wrong,  but  it  was  not  intentionally;  he 
was  therefore,  I  could  not  help  thinking,  too  severe  upon 
me.  That  notwithstanding  our  agreement  not  to  meet 
that  day,  I  would  call  on  him  in  my  way  to  the  city,  and 
stay  five  minutes  by  my  watch.  'You  are,  (said  I,)  in  my 
mind,  since  last  night,  surrounded  with  cloud  and  storm. 
Let  me  have  a  glimpse  of  sunshine,  and  go  about  my  affairs 
in  serenity  and  chearfulness.' 

Upon  entering  his  study,  I  was  glad  that  he  was  not 
alone,  which  would  have  made  our  meeting  more  awkward. 
There  were  with  him,  Mr.  Steevens  and  Mr.  Tyers,  both  of 
whom  I  now  saw  for  the  first  time.  My  note  had,  on  his 
own  reflection,  softened  him,  for  he  received  me  very  com- 
placently; so  that  I  unexpectedly  found  myself  at  ease,  and 
joined  in  the  conversation. 

I  whispered  him,  'Well,  Sir,  you  are  now  in  good  humour.' 
Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir.'  I  was  going  to  leave  him,  and  had 
got  as  far  as  the  staircase.  He  stopped  me,  and  smiling, 
said,  'Get  you  gone  in;'  a  curious  mode  of  inviting  me  to 
stay,  which  I  accordingly  did  for  some  time  longer. 

This  little  incidental  quarrel  and  reconciliation,  which, 
perhaps,  I  may  be  thought  to  have  detailed  too  minutely, 
must  be  esteemed  as  one  of  many  proofs  which  his  friends 


17701  HIS  MODE  OF  LIFE  177 

had,  that  though  he  might  be  charged  with  bad  humour  at 
times,  he  was  always  a  good-natured  man;  and  I  have  heard 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  a  nice  and  delicate  observer  of  man- 
ners, particularly  remark,  that  when  u]X)n  any  occasion 
Johnson  had  been  rough  to  any  person  in  company,  he  took 
the  first  opportunity  of  reconciliation,  by  drinking  to  him, 
or  addressing  his  discourse  to  him ;  but  if  he  found  his  digni- 
fied indirect  overtures  sullenly  neglected,  he  was  quite  in- 
different, and  considered  himself  as  having  done  all  that 
he  ought  to  do,  and  the  other  aa  now  in  the  wrong. 

I  went  to  him  early  on  the  morning  of  the  tenth  of  No- 
vember. '  Now  (said  he,)  that  you  are  going  to  marry,  do  not 
expect  more  from  life,  than  life  will  afford.  You  may  often 
find  yourself  out  of  humour,  and  you  may  often  think  your 
wife  not  studious  enough  to  please  you ;  and  yet  you  may 
have  reason  to  consider  yourself  as  upon  the  whole  very 
happily  married.' 

1770:  iETAT.  61.] — During  this  year  there  was  a  total  ces- 
sation of  all  correspondence  between  Dr.  Johnson  and  me, 
without  any  coldness  on  either  side,  but  merely  from  pro- 
crastination, continued  from  day  to  day;  and  as  I  was  not 
in  London,  I  had  no  opportunity  of  enjoying  his  company 
and  recording  his  conversation.  To  supply  this  blank,  I 
shall  present  my  readers  with  some  Collectanea,  obligingly 
furnished  to  me  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Maxwell,  of  Falkland,  in 
Ireland,  sometime  assistant  preacher  at  the  Temple,  and  for 
many  years  the  social  friend  of  Johnson,  who  spoke  of  him 
with  a  very  kind  regard. 

'  His  general  mode  of  life,  during  my  acquaintance,  seemed 
to  be  pretty  uniform.  About  twelve  o'clock  I  commonly 
visited  him,  and  frequently  found  him  in  bed,  or  declaiming 
over  his  tea,  which  he  drank  very  plentifully.  He  generally 
had  a  levee  of  morning  visitors,  chiefly  men  of  letters;  Hawkes- 
worth,  Goldsmith,  Murphy,  Langton,  Steevens,  Beauclerk, 
Ac.  &c.,  and  sometimes  learned  ladies,  particularly  I  remem- 
ber a  French  lady  of  wit  and  fashion  doing  him  the  honour 
of  a  visit.  He  seemed  to  me  to  be  considered  as  a  kind  of 
publick  oracle,  whom  every  body  thought  they  had  a  right 
to  visit  and  consult;  and  doubtless  they  were  well  rewarded. 


178  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  U770 

I  never  could  discover  how  he  found  time  for  his  composi- 
tions. He  declaimed  all  the  morning,  then  went  to  dinner 
at  a  tavern,  where  he  commonly  staid  late,  and  then  drank 
his  tea  at  some  friend's  house,  over  which  he  loitered  a  great 
while,  but  seldom  took  supper.  I  fancy  he  must  have  read 
and  wrote  chiefly  in  the  nighty  for  I  can  scarcely  recollect 
that  he  ever  refused  going  with  me  to  a  tavern,  and  he  often 
went  to  Ranelagh,  which  he  deemed  a  place  of  innocent 
recreation. 

'He  frequently  gave  all  the  silver  in  his  pocket  to  the 
poor,  who  watched  him,  between  his  house  and  the  tavern 
where  he  dined.  He  walked  the  streets  at  all  hours,  and 
said  he  was  never  robbed,  for  the  rogues  knew  he  had  little 
money,  nor  had  the  appearance  of  having  much. 

'Though  the  most  accessible  and  communicative  man 
alive;  yet  when  he  suspected  he  was  invited  to  be  exhibited, 
he  constantly  spurned  the  invitation. 

'Two  young  women  from  Staffordshire  visited  him  when 
I  was  present,  to  consult  him  on  the  subject  of  Methodism, 
to  which  they  were  inclined.  "Come,  (said  he,)  you  pretty 
fools,  dine  with  Maxwell  and  me  at  the  Mitre,  and  we  will 
talk  over  that  subject;"  which  they  did,  and  after  dinner  he 
took  one  of  them  upon  his  knee,  and  fondled  her  for  half 
an  hour  together. 

'Johnson  was  much  attached  to  London:  he  observed, 
that  a  man  stored  his  mind  better  there,  than  any  where 
else;  and  that  in  remote  situations  a  man's  body  might  be 
feasted,  but  his  mind  was  starved,  and  his  faculties  apt  to 
degenerate,  from  want  of  exercise  and  competition.  No 
place,  (he  said,)  cured  a  man's  vanity  or  arrogance  so  well  as 
London;  for  as  no  man  was  either  great  or  good  per  se,  but 
as  compared  with  others  not  so  good  or  great,  he  was  sure  to 
find  in  the  metropolis  many  his  equals,  and  some  his  superi- 
ours.  He  observed,  that  a  man  in  London  was  in  less 
danger  of  falling  in  love  indiscreetly,  than  any  where  else; 
for  there  the  difficulty  of  deciding  between  the  conflicting 
pretensions  of  a  vast  variety  of  objects,  kept  him  safe.  He 
told  me,  that  he  had  frequently  been  offered  country  prefer- 
ment, if  he  would  consent  to  take  orders;   but  he  could  not 


17701  METHODIST  PREACHING  179 

leave  the  improved  society  of  the  capital,  or  consent  to  ex- 
change the  exhilarating  joys  and  splendid  decorations  of 
publick  life,  for  the  obscurity,  insipidity,  and  uniformity  of 
remote  situations. 

'Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  he  said,  was  the  only 
book  that  ever  took  him  out  of  bed  two  hours  sooner  than 
he  wished  to  rise. 

'When  exasperated  by  contradiction,  he  was  apt  to  treat 
his  opponents  with  too  much  acrimony:  as,  "Sir,  you  don't 
see  your  way  through  that  question:" — "Sir,  you  talk  the 
language  of  ignorance."  On  my  observing  to  him  that  a 
certain  gentleman  had  remained  silent  the  whole  eve- 
ning, in  the  midst  of  a  very  brilliant  and  learned  society, 
"Sir,  (said  he,)  the  conversation  overflowed,  and  drowned 
him." 

'He  observed,  that  the  established  clergy  in  general  did 
not  preach  plain  enough;  and  that  jx)lished  periods  and 
glittering  sentences  flew  over  the  heads  of  the  common  peo- 
ple, without  any  impression  up)on  their  hearts.  Something 
might  be  necessary,  he  observed,  to  excite  the  affections  of 
the  common  people,  who  were  sunk  in  languor  and  lethargy, 
and  therefore  he  supposed  that  the  new  concomitants  of 
methodism  might  probably  produce  so  desirable  an  effect. 
The  mind,  like  the  body,  he  observed,  delighted  in  change 
and  novelty,  and  even  in  religion  itself,  courted  new  ap- 
pearances and  modifications.  Whatever  might  be  thought 
of  some  methodist  teachers,  he  said,  he  could  scarcely  doubt 
the  sincerity  of  that  man,  who  travelled  nine  hundred  miles 
in  a  month,  and  preached  twelve  tunes  a  week;  for  no  ade- 
quate reward,  merely  temporal,  could  be  given  for  such 
indefatigable  labour. 

'  In  a  Latin  conversation  with  the  Pfere  Boscovitch,  at  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  I  heard  him  maintain  the  supe- 
riority of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  over  all  foreign  philosophers, 
with  a  dignity  and  eloquence  that  surprized  that  learned 
foreigner.  It  being  observed  to  him,  that  a  rage  for  every 
thing  English  prevailed  much  in  France  after  Lord  Chat- 
ham's glorious  war,  he  said,  he  did  not  wonder  at  it,  for 
that  we  had  drubbed  those  fellows  into  a  proper  reverence 


180  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON      .  [i770 

for  us,  and  that  their  national  petulance  required  periodical 
chastisement. 

'Speaking  of  a  dull  tiresome  fellow,  whom  he  chanced  to 
meet,  he  said,  "That  fellow  seems  to  me  to  possess  but  one 
idea,  and  that  is  a  wrong  one." 

'  Much  enquiry  having  been  made  concerning  a  gentleman, 
who  had  quitted  a  company  where  Johnson  was,  and  no  in- 
formation being  obtained;  at  last  Johnson  observed,  that 
"he  did  not  care  to  speak  ill  of  any  man  behind  his  back, 
but  he  believed  the  gentleman  was  an  attorney." 

'A  gentleman  who  had  been  very  unhappy  in  marriage, 
married  immediately  after  his  wife  died:  Johnson  said,  it 
was  the  triumph  of  hope  over  experience. 

'He  observed,  that  a  man  of  sense  and  education  should 
meet  a  suitable  companion  in  a  wife.  It  was  a  miserable 
thing  when  the  conversation  could  only  be  such  as,  whether 
the  mutton  should  be  boiled  or  roasted,  and  probably  a 
dispute  about  that. 

'He  did  not  approve  of  late  marriages,  observing  that 
more  was  lost  in  point  of  time,  than  compensated  for  by  any 
possible  advantages.  Even  ill  assorted  marriages  were  pref- 
erable to  cheerless  celibacy, 

'He  said,  foppery  was  never  cured;  it  was  the  bad  stamina 
of  the  mind,  which,  like  those  of  the  body,  were  never  recti- 
fied: once  a  coxcomb,  and  always  a  coxcomb. 

'  Being  told  that  Gilbert  Cowper  called  him  the  Caliban  of 
literature;  "Well,  (said  he,)  I  must  dub  him  the  Punchinello." 

'He  said  few  people  had  intellectual  resources  sufficient  to 
forego  the  pleasures  of  wine.  They  could  not  otherwise 
contrive  how  to  fill  the  interval  between  dinner  and  supper. 

'One  evening  at  Mrs.  Montagu's,  where  a  splendid  com- 
pany was  assembled,  consisting  of  the  most  eminent  literary 
characters,  I  thought  he  seemed  highly  pleased  with  the 
respect  and  attention  that  were  shewn  him,  and  asked  him 
on  our  return  home  if  he  was  not  highly  gratified  by  his  visit: 
"No,  Sir,  (said  he,)  not  highly  gratified;  yet  I  do  not  recol- 
lect to  have  passed  many  evenings  with  fewer  objections." 

'Though  of  no  high  extraction  himself,  he  had  much  re- 
spect for  birth  and  family,  especially  among  ladies.    He 


1771]  JOHNSON'S   PORTRAIT  181 

said,  ''adventitious  accomplishments  may  be  possessed  by 
all  ranks;  but  one  may  easily  distinguish  the  bom  gentle' 
woman.'' 

'Speaking  of  Burke,  he  said,  "It  was  commonly  observed, 
he  spoke  too  often  in  parliament;  but  nobody  could  say  he 
did  not  speak  well,  though  too  frequently  and  too  familiarly." 

'We  dined  tSte  d  tSle  at  the  Mitre,  as  I  was  preparing  to 
return  to  Ireland,  after  an  absence  of  many  years.  I  re- 
gretted much  leaving  London,  where  I  had  formed  many 
agreeable  connexions:  "Sir,  (said  he,)  I  don't  wonder  at  it; 
no  man,  fond  of  letters,  leaves  London  without  regret.  But 
remember.  Sir,  you  have  seen  and  enjoyed  a  great  deal; — 
you  have  seen  life  in  its  highest  decorations,  and  the  world 
has  nothing  new  to  exhibit.  No  man  is  so  well  qualifyed  to 
leave  publick  life  as  he  who  has  long  tried  it  and  known  it 
well.  We  are  always  hankering  after  untried  situations, 
and  imagining  greater  felicity  from  them  than  they  can 
afford.  No,  Sir,  knowledge  and  virtue  may  be  acquired  in 
all  countries,  and  your  local  consequence  will  make  you 
some  amends  for  the  intellectual  gratifications  you  relin- 
quish." 

'He  then  took  a  most  affecting  leave  of  me;  said,  he 
knew,  it  was  a  pwint  of  dtUy  that  called  me  away.  "We 
shall  all  be  sorry  to  lose  you,"  said  he:  "laudo  tamen.'" 

1771.  ^TAT.  62.]— 
'To  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  in  Leicester-fields. 

'Dear  Sir, — When  I  came  to  Lichfield,  I  found  that  my 
portrait  had  been  much  visited,  and  much  admired.  Every 
man  has  a  lurking  wish  to  appear  considerable  in  his  native 
place;  and  I  was  pleased  with  the  dignity  conferred  by  such 
a  testimony  of  your  regard. 

'Be  pleased,  therefore,  to  accept  the  thanks  of,  Sir,  your 
most  obliged  and  most  humble  servant, 

'Ashbourn  in  Derbyshire,  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

July  17,  1771.' 

'Compliments  to  Miss  Reynolds.' 


182  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1771 

In  his  religious  record  of  this  year,  we  observe  that  he 
wais  better  than  usual,  both  in  body  and  mind,  and  better 
satisfied  with  the  regularity  of  his  conduct.  But  he  is  still 
'trying  his  ways'  too  rigorously.  He  charges  himself  with 
not  risihg  early  enough;  yet  he  mentions  what  was  surely 
a  sufficient  excuse  for  this,  supposing  it  to  be  a  duty  seriously 
required,  as  he  all  his  life  appears  to  have  thought  it.  '  One 
great  hindrance  is  want  of  rest;  my  nocturnal  complaints 
grow  less  troublesome  towards  morning;  and  I  am  tempted 
to  repair  the  deficiencies  of  the  night.'  Alas!  how  hard 
would  it  be  if  this  indulgence  were  to  be  imputed  to  a  sick 
man  as  a  crime.  In  his  retrospect  on  the  following  Easter- 
Eve,  he  says,  'When  I  review  the  last  year,  I  am  able  to 
recollect  so  little  done,  that  shame  and  sorrow,  though  per- 
haps too  weakly,  come  upon  me.' 

In  1772  he  was  altogether  quiescent  as  an  authour;  but 
it  will  be  found  from  the  various  evidences  which  I  shall 
bring  together  that  his  mind  was  acute,  lively,  and  vigorous. 

'To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

'Dear  Sir, — That  j'^ou  are  coming  so  soon  to  town  I  am 
very  glad;  and  still  more  glad  that  you  are  coming  as  an 
advocate.  I  think  nothing  more  likely  to  make  your  life 
pass  happily  away,  than  that  consciousness  of  your  own 
value,  which  eminence  in  your  profession  will  certainly  con- 
fer. If  I  can  give  you  any  collateral  help,  I  hope  you  do 
not  suspect  that  it  will  be  wanting.  My  kindness  for  you 
has  neither  the  merit  of  singular  virtue,  nor  the  reproach 
of  singular  prejudice.  Whether  to  love  you  be  right  or 
wrong,  I  have  many  on  my  side:  Mrs.  Thrale  loves  you, 
and  Mrs.  Williams  loves  you,  and  what  would  have  inclined 
me  to  love  you,  if  I  had  been  neutral  before,  you  are  a  great 
favourite  of  Dr.  Beattie.^ 

'Of  Dr.  Beattie  I, should  have  thought  much,  but  that 
his  lady  puts  him  out  of  my  head;  she  is  a  very  lovely  woman. 

'The  ejection  which  you  come  hither  to  oppose,  appears 

>  Boswell  had  given  Beattie  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Johnson  the 
preceding  siimmer. — Ed. 


1772]  BOSWELL  AGAIN  IN  LONDON  183 

very  cruel,  unreasonable,  and  oppressive.  I  should  think 
there  could  not  be  much  doubt  of  your  success. 

'My  health  grows  better,  yet  I  am  not  fully  recovered. 
I  believe  it  is  held,  that  men  do  not  recover  very  fast  after 
threescore.  I  hope  yet  to  see  Beattie's  College:  and  have 
not  given  up  the  western  voyage.  But  however  all  this 
may  be  or  not,  let  us  try  to  make  each  other  happy  when 
we  meet,  and  not  refer  our  pleasure  to  distant  times  or 
distant  places. 

'How  comes  it  that  you  tell  me  nothing  of  your  lady?  I 
hope  to  see  her  some  time,  and  till  then  shall  be  glad  to 
hear  of  her.    I  am,  dear  Sir,  &c. 

'March  15,  1772.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

On  the  21st  of  March,  I  was  happy  to  find  myself  again 
in  my  friend's  study,  and  was  glad  to  see  my  old  acquain- 
tance, Mr.  Francis  Barber,  who  was  now  returned  home. 
Dr.  Johnson  received  me  with  a  hearty  welcome;  saying, 
'I  am  glad  you  are  come.' 

I  thanked  him  for  showing  civilities  to  Beattie.  'Sir, 
(said  he,)  I  should  thank  you.  We  all  love  Beattie.  Mrs. 
Thrale  says,  if  ever  she  has  another  husband,  she'll  have 
Beattie.  He  sunk  upon  us  that  he  was  married;  else  we 
should  have  shewn  his  lady  more  civilities.  She  is  a  very 
fine  woman.  But  how  can  you  shew  civilities  to  a  nonentity? 
I  did  not  think  he  had  been  married.  Nay,  I  did  not  think 
about  it  one  way  or  other;  but  he  did  not  tell  us  of  his  lady 
till  lat€.' 

He  then  spoke  of  St.  Kilda,  the  most  remote  of  the  Heb- 
rides. I  told  him,  I  thought  of  buying  it.  Johnson. 
'  Pray  do,  Sir.  We  will  go  and  pass  a  winter  amid  the  blasts 
there.  We  shall  have  fine  fish,  and  we  will  take  some  dried 
tongues  with  us,  and  some  books.  We  will  have  a  strong 
built  vessel,  and  some  Orkney  men  to  navigate  her.  We 
must  build  a  tolerable  house:  but  we  may  carry  with  us  a 
wooden  house  ready  made,  and  requiring  nothing  but  to 
be  put  up.  Consider,  Sir,  by  buying  St.  Kilda,  you  may 
keep  the  people  from  falling  into  worse  hands.  We  must 
give  them  a  clerg3Tiian,  and  he  shall  be  one  of  Beattie's 


184  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1772 

choosing.  He  shall  be  educated  at  Marischal  College.  I'll 
be  your  Lord  Chancellor,  or  what  you  please.'  Boswell. 
'Are  you  serious,  Sir,  in  advising  me  to  buy  St.  Kilda?  for 
if  you  should  advise  me  to  go  to  Japan,  I  believe  I  should 
do  it.'  Johnson.  'Why  yes,  Sir,  I  am  serious.'  Boswell. 
'Why  then,  I'll  see  what  can  be  done.' 

He  was  engaged  to  dine  abroad,  and  asked  me  to  return 
to  him  in  the  evening  at  nine,  which  I  accordingly  did. 

We  drank  tea  with  Mrs.  Williams,  who  told  us  a  story  of 
second  sight,  which  happened  in  Wales  where  she  was  born. 
He  listened  to  it  very  attentively,  and  said  he  should  be 
glad  to  have  some  instances  of  that  faculty  well  authenti- 
cated. His  elevated  wish  for  more  and  more  evidence  for 
spirit,  in  opposition  to  the  groveling  belief  of  materialism, 
led  him  to  a  love  of  such  mysterious  disquisitions.  He 
again  justly  observed,  that  we  could  have  no  certainty  of 
the  truth  of  supernatural  appearances,  unless  something 
was  told  us  which  we  could  not  know  by  ordinary  means, 
or  something  done  which  could  not  be  done  but  by  super- 
natural power;  that  Pharaoh  in  reason  and  justice  required 
such  evidence  from  Moses;  nay,  that  our  Saviour  said,  'If 
I  had  not  done  among  them  the  works  which  none  other 
man  did,  they  had  not  had  sin.' 

We  talked  of  the  Roman  Catholick  religion,  and  how 
little  difference  there  was  in  essential  matters  between  ours 
and  it.  Johnson.  'True,  Sir;  all  denominations  of  Chris- 
tians have  really  little  difference  in  point  of  doctrine,  though 
they  may  differ  widely  in  external  forms.  There  is  a  pro- 
digious difference  between  the  external  form  of  one  of  your 
Presbyterian  churches  in  Scotland,  and  a  church  in  Italy; 
yet  the  doctrine  taught  is  essentially  the  same.' 

In  the  morning  we  had  talked  of  old  families,  and  the 
respect  due  to  them.  Johnson.  'Sir,  you  have  a  right  to 
that  kind  of  respect,  and  are  arguing  for  yourself.  I  am  for 
supporting  the  principle,  and  am  disinterested  in  doing  it, 
as  I  have  no  such  right.'  Boswell.  'Why,  Sir,  it  is  one 
more  incitement  to  a  man  to  do  well.'  Johnson.  'Yes, 
Sir,  and  it  is  a  matter  of  opinion,  very  necessary  to  keep 
society  together.     What  is  it  but  opinion,  by  which  we  have 


17721  RESPECT  FOR  OLD  FAMILIES  185 

a  respect  for  authority,  that  prevents  us,  who  are  the  rabble, 
from  rising  up  and  puUing  down  you  who  are  gentlemen 
from  your  places,  and  saying,  "We  will  be  gentlemen  in  our 
turn?"  Now,  Sir,  that  respect  for  authority  is  much  more 
easily  granted  to  a  man  whose  father  has  had  it,  than  to  an 
upstart,  and  so  Society  is  more  easily  supported.'  Boswell. 
'At  present.  Sir,  I  think  riches  seem  to  gain  most  respect.' 
Johnson.  'No,  Sir,  riches  do  not  gain  hearty  respect;  they 
only  procure  external  attention.  A  very  rich  man,  from 
low  beginnings,  may  buy  his  election  in  a  borough;  but, 
cccteris  paribus,  a  man  of  family  will  be  preferred.  People 
will  prefer  a  man  for  whose  father  their  fathers  have  voted, 
though  they  should  get  no  more  money,  or  even  less.  That 
shows  that  the  respect  for  family  is  not  merely  fanciful, 
but  has  an  actual  operation.  If  gentlemen  of  family  would 
allow  the  rich  upstarts  to  spend  their  money  profusely, 
which  they  are  ready  enough  to  do,  and  not  vie  with  them 
in  expence,  the  upstarts  would  soon  be  at  an  end,  and  the 
gentlemen  would  remain:  but  if  the  gentlemen  will  vie  in 
expence  with  the  upstarts,  which  is  very  foolish,  they  must 
be  ruined.' 

On  Monday,  March  23,  I  found  him  busy,  preparing  a 
fourth  edition  of  his  folio  Dictionary.  Mr.  Peyton,  one  of 
his  original  amanuenses,  was  writing  for  him. 

He  seemed  also  to  be  intent  on  some  sort  of  chymical 
operation.  I  was  entertained  by  observing  how  he  con- 
trived to  send  Mr.  Peyton  on  an  errand,  without  seeming 
to  degrade  him.  'Mr.  Peyton, — Mr.  Peyton,  will  you  be 
so  good  as  to  take  a  walk  to  Temple-Bar?  You  will  there 
see  a  chymist's  shop;  at  which  you  will  be  pleased  to  buy  for 
me  an  ounce  of  oil  of  vitriol;  not  spirit  of  vitriol,  but  oil  of 
vitriol.  It  will  cost  three  half-pence.'  Peyton  immediately 
went,  and  returned  with  it,  and  told  him  it  cost  but  a  penny. 

On  Saturday,  March  27, 1  introduced  to  him  Sir  Alexander 
Macdonald,  with  whom  he  had  expressed  a  wish  to  be  ac- 
quainted.    He  received  him  very  courteously. 

Sir  a.  'I  think.  Sir,  almost  all  great  lawyers,  such  at 
least  as  have  written  upon  law,  have  known  only  law,  and 
nothing  else.'    Johnson.    'Why  no,  Sir;   Judge  Hale  was 


186  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1772 

a.  great  lawyer,  and  wrote  upon  law;  and  yet  he  knew  a  great 
many  other  things,  and  has  written  upon  other  things. 
Selden  too.'  Sir  A.  'Very  true,  Sir;  and  Lord  Bacon. 
But  was  not  Lord  Coke  a  mere  lawyer?'  Johnson.  'Why, 
I  am  afraid  he  was;  but  he  would  have  taken  it  very  ill  if 
you  had  told  him  so.  He  would  have  prosecuted  you  for 
scandal.'  Boswell.  'Lord  Mansfield  is  not  a  mere  laAvyer.' 
Johnson.  'No,  Sir.  I  never  was  in  Lord  Mansfield's  com- 
pany; but  Lord  Mansfield  was  distinguished  at  the  Univer- 
sity. Lord  Mansfield,  when  he  first  came  to  town,  "drank 
champagne  with  the  wits,"  as  Prior  says.  He  was  the  friend 
of  Pope.'  Sir  A.  'Barristers,  I  believe,  are  not  so  abusive 
now  as  they  were  formerly.  I  fancy  they  had  less  law  long 
ago,  and  so  were  obliged  to  take  to  abuse,  to  fill  up  the 
time.  Now  they  have  such  a  number  of  precedents,  they 
liave  no  occasion  for  abuse.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  they  had 
more  law  long  ago  than  they  have  now.  As  to  precedents, 
to  be  sure  they  will  increase  in  course  of  time;  but  the 
m.ore  precedents  there  are,  the  less  occasion  is  there  for  law; 
that  is  to  say,  the  less  occasion  is  there  for  investigating 
principles.'  Sir  A.  'I  have  been  correcting  several  Scotch 
accents  in  my  friend  Boswell.  I  doubt,  Sir,  if  any  Scotch- 
man ever  attains  to  a  perfect  English  pronunciation.'  John- 
son. 'Why,  Sir,  few  of  them  do,  because  they  do  not  per- 
severe after  acquiring  a  certain  degree  of  it.  But,  Sir,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  they  may  attain  to  a  perfect  English 
pronunciation,  if  they  will.  We  find  how  near  they  come  to 
it;  and  certainly,  a  man  who  conquers  nineteen  parts  of  the 
Scottish  accent,  may  conquer  the  twentieth.  But,  Sir, 
when  a  man  has  got  the  better  of  nine  tenths  he  grows 
weary,  he  relaxes  his  diligence,  he  finds  he  has  corrected 
his  accent  so  far  as  not  to  be  disagreeable,  and  he  no  longer 
desires  his  friends  to  tell  him  when  he  is  wrong;  nor  does 
he  choose  to  be  told.  Sir,  when  people  watch  me  narrowly, 
and  I  do  not  watch  myself,  they  will  find  me  out  to  be  of 
a  particular  county.  In  the  same  manner,  Dunning  may 
be  found  out  to  be  a  Devonshire  man.  So  most  Scotchmen 
may  be  found  out.  But,  Sir,  little  aberrations  are  of  no 
■disadvantage.     I  never  catched  Mallet  in  a  Scotch  accent; 


1772]  ON  GHOSTS  187 

and  yet  Mallet,  I  suppose,  was  past  five-and-twenty  before 
he  came  to  London.' 

I  again  visited  him  at  night.  Finding  him  in  a  very  good 
humour,  I  ventured  to  lead  him  to  the  subject  of  our  situa- 
tion in  a  future  state,  having  much  curiosity  to  know  his 
notions  on  that  point.  .  .  . 

BoswELL.  'I  do  not  know  whether  there  are  any  well- 
attested  stories  of  the  appearance  of  ghosts.  You  know 
there  is  a  famous  story  of  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Veal,  pre- 
fixed to  Drelincourt  on  Death.'  Johnson.  'I  believe,  Sir, 
that  is  given  up.  I  believe  the  woman  declared  upon  her 
death-bed  that  it  was  a  Ue.'  Boswell.  'This  objection 
is  made  against  the  truth  of  ghosts  appearing:  that  if  they 
are  in  a  state  of  happiness,  it  would  be  a  punishment  to 
them  to  return  to  this  world;  and  if  they  are  in  a  state  of 
misery,  it  would  be  giving  them  a  respite.'  Johnson.  '  Why, 
Sir,  as  the  happiness  or  misery  of  embodied  spirits  does  not 
depend  uf)on  place,  but  is  intellectual,  we  cannot  say  that 
they  are  less  happy  or  less  miserable  by  appearing  upon  earth.' 

We  went  down  between  twelve  and  one  to  Mrs.  Williams's 
room,  and  drank  tea.  I  mentioned  that  we  were  to  have 
the  remains  of  Mr.  Gray,  in  prose  and  verse,  published  by 
Mr.  Mason.  Johnson.  'I  think  we  have  had  enough  of 
Gray.  I  see  they  have  published  a  splendid  edition  of 
Akenside's  works.  One  bad  ode  may  be  suffered;  but  a 
number  of  them  together  makes  one  sick.'  Boswell. 
^Akenside's  distinguished  poem  is  his  Pleasures  of  Imoffina- 
tion:  but  for  my  part,  I  never  could  admire  it  so  much  as 
most  people  do.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  I  could  not  read  it 
through.'  Boswell.  'I  have  read  it  through;  but  I  did 
not  find  any  great  power  in  it.' 

On  Tuesday,  March  31,  he  and  I  dined  at  General  Paoli's. 

Dr.  Johnson  went  home  with  me  to  my  lodgings  in  Con- 
duit-street and  drank  tea,  previous  to  our  going  to  the 
Pantheon,  which  neither  of  us  had  seen  before. 

He  said,  'Goldsmith's  Life  of  Paniell  is  poor;  not  that  it 
is  poorly  written,  but  that  he  had  poor  materials;  for  no- 
body can  write  the  life  of  a  man,  but  those  who  have  eat 
and  drunk  and  lived  in  social  intercourse  with  him.' 


188  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i772 

I  said,  that  if  it  was  not  troublesome  and  presuming  too 
much,  I  would  request  him  to  tell  me  all  the  little  cir- 
cumstances of  his  life;  what  schools  he  attended,  when  he 
came  to  Oxford,  when  he  came  to  London,  &c.  &c.  He  did 
not  disapprove  of  my  curiosity  as  to  these  particulars;  but 
said,  'They'll  come  out  by  degrees  as  we  talk  together.' 

We  talked  of  the  proper  use  of  riches.  Johnson.  'If 
I  were  a  man  of  a  great  estate,  I  would  drive  all  the  rascals 
whom  I  did  not  like  out  of  the  county  at  an  election.' 

We  then  walked  to  the  Pantheon.  The  first  view  of  it  did 
not  strike  us  so  much  as  Ranelagh,  of  which  he  said,  the 
^cowp  d'oeil  was  the  finest  thing  he  had  ever  seen.'  The  truth 
is,  Ranelagh  is  of  a  more  beautiful  form;  more  of  it,  or 
rather  indeed  the  whole  rotunda,  appears  at  once,  and  it  is 
better  lighted.  However,  as  Johnson  observed,  we  saw  the 
Pantheon  in  time  of  mourning,  when  there  was  a  dull  uni- 
formity; whereas  we  had  seen  Ranelagh  when  the  view  was 
'enlivened  with  a  gay  profusion  of  colours.  Mrs.  Bosville,  of 
Gunthwait,  in  Yorkshire,  joined  us,  and  entered  into  con- 
versation with  us.  Johnson  said  to  me  afterwards,  'Sir, 
this  is  a  mighty  intelligent  lad3\' 

I  said  there  was  not  half  a  guinea's  worth  of  pleasure  in 
seeing  this  place.  Johnson.  'But,  Sir,  there  is  half  a 
guinea's  worth  of  inferiority  to  other  people  in  not  having 
seen  it.'  Boswell.  'I  doubt,  Sir,  whether  there  are  many 
happy  people  here.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  there  are  many 
happy  people  here.  There  are  many  jieople  here  who  are 
watching  hundreds,  and  who  think  hundreds  are  watching 
them.' 

Happening  to  meet  Sir  Adam  Fergusson,  I  presented  him 
to  Dr.  Johnson.  Sir  Adam  expressed  some  apprehension 
that  the  Pantheon  would  encourage  luxury.  'Sir,  (said 
Johnson,)  I  am  a  great  friend  to  publick  amusements;  for 
they  keep  people  from  vice.  You  now  (addressing  himself 
to  me,)  would  have  been  with  a  wench,  had  you  not  been 
here.— ^ !  I  forgot  you  were  married.' 

Sir  Adam  suggested,  that  luxury  corrupts  a  people,  and 
destroys  the  spirit  of  liberty.  Johnson.  'Sir,  that  is  all 
visionary.     I  would  not  give  half  a  guinea  to  live  undei*  one 


1772]  ON  POWER  189 

form  of  government  rather  than  another.  It  is  of  no  mo- 
ment to  the  happiness  of  an  individual.  Sir,  the  danger  of 
the  abuse  of  power  is  nothing  to  a  private  man.  What 
Frenchman  is  prevented  from  passing  his  Ufe  as  he  pleases?' 
Sir  Adam.  'But,  Sir,  in  the  British  constitution  it  is  surely 
of  importance  to  keep  up  a  spirit  in  the  people,  so  as  to  pre- 
serve a  balance  against  the  crown.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  I 
perceive  you  are  a  vile  Whig.  Why  all  this  childish  jealousy 
of  the  power  of  the  crown?  The  crown  has  not  power 
enough.  When  I  say  that  all  governments  are  alike,  I  con- 
sider that  in  no  government  power  can  be  abused  long. 
Mankind  will  not  bear  it.  If  a  sovereign  oppresses  his  peo- 
ple to  a  great  degree,  they  will  rise  and  cut  off  his  head. 
There  is  a  remedy  in  human  nature  against  tyranny,  that  will 
keep  us  safe  under  every  form  of  government.  Had  not  the 
people  of  France  thought  themselves  honoured  as  sharing  in 
the  brilliant  actions  of  Lewis  XIV,  they  would  not  have 
endured  him;  and  we  may  say  the  same  of  the  King  of 
Prussia's  people.'  Sir  Adam  introduced  the  ancient  Greeks 
and  Romans.  Johnson.  'Sir,  the  mass  of  both  of  them 
were  barbarians.  The  mass  of  every  people  must  be  bar- 
barous where  there  is  no  printing,  and  consequently  knowl- 
edge is  not  generally  diffused.  Knowledge  is  diffused  among 
our  people  by  the  news-papers.'  Sir  Adam  mentioned  the 
orators,  poets,  and  artists  of  Greece.  Johnson.  'Sir,  I  am 
talking  of  the  mass  of  the  people.  We  see  even  what  the 
boasted  Athenians  were.  The  little  effect  which  Demos- 
thenes's  orations  had  upon  them,  shews  that  they  were  bar- 
barians.' 

On  Sunday,  April  5,  after  attending  divine  service  at  St. 
Paul's  church,  I  found  him  alone. 

He  said,  he  went  more  frequently  to  church  when  there 
were  prayers  only,  than  when  there  was  also  a  sermon,  as 
the  people  required  more  an  example  for  the  one  than  the 
other;  it  being  much  easier  for  them  to  hear  a  sermon,  than 
to  fix  their  minds  on  prayer. 

On  Monday,  April  6,  I  dined  with  him  at  Sir  Alexander 
Macdonald's,  where  was  a  young  officer  in  the  regimentals 
of  the  Scots  Royal,  who  talked  with  a  vivacity,  fluency, 


190  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1772 

and  precision  so  uncommon,  that  he  attracted  particular 
attention.  He  proved  to  be  the  Honourable  Thomas  Ers- 
kine,  youngest  brother  to  the  Earl  of  Buchan,  who  has  since 
risen  into  such  brilliant  reputation  at  the  bar  in  West- 
minster-hall. 

Fielding  being  mentioned,  Johnson  exclaimed,  'he  was  a 
blockhead;'  and  upon  my  expressing  my  astonishment  at  so 
strange  an  assertion,  he  said,  'What  I  mean  by  his  being  a 
blockhead  is  that  he  was  a  barren  rascal.'  Boswell.  'Will 
you  not  allow,  Sir,  that  he  draws  very  natural  pictures  of 
human  life?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  it  is  of  very  low  life. 
Richardson  used  to  say,  that  had  he  not  known  who  Fielding 
was,  he  should  have  believed  he  was  an  ostler.  Sir,  there  is 
more  knowledge  of  the  heart  in  one  letter  of  Richardson's, 
than  in  all  Tom  Jones.  I,  indeed,  never  read  Joseph  An- 
drews J  Erskine.  'Surely,  Sir,  Richardson  is  very  tedious.' 
Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  if  you  were  to  read  Richardson  for 
the  story,  your  impatience  would  be  so  much  fretted  that 
you  would  hang  yourself.  But  you  must  read  him  for  the 
sentiment,  and  consider  the  story  as  only  giving  occasion 
to  the  sentiment.' 

We  talked  of  gaming,  and  animadverted  on  it  with  se- 
verity. Johnson.  'Nay,  gentlemen,  let  us  not  aggravate 
the  matter.  It  is  not  roguery  to  play  with  a  man  who  is 
ignorant  of  the  game,  while  you  are  master  of  it,  and  so  win 
his  money;  for  he  thinks  he  can  play  better  than  you,  as  you 
think  you  can  play  better  than  he;  and  the  superiour  skill 
carries  it.'  Erskine.  ' He  is  a  fool,  but  you  are  not  a  rogue.' 
Johnson.  'That's  much  about  the  truth,  Sir.  It  must  be 
considered,  that  a  man  who  only  does  what  every  one  of  the 
society  to  which  he  belongs  would  do,  is  not  a  dishonest  man. 
In  the  republick  of  Sparta,  it  was  agreed,  that  stealing  was 
not  dishonourable,  if  not  discovered.  I  do  not  commend 
a  society  where  there  is  an  agreement  that  what  would  not 
otherwise  be  fair,  shall  be  fair;  but  I  maintain,  that  an 
individual  of  any  society,  who  practises  what  is  allowed,  is 
not  a  dishonest  man.'  Boswell.  'So  then.  Sir,  you  do  not 
think  ill  of  a  man  who  wins  perhaps  forty  thousand  pounds 
in  a  winter?'    Johnson.     'Sir,  I  do  not  call  a  gamester  a 


17721  GHOSTS  AND  WITCHES  191 

dishonest  man;  but  I  call  him  an  unsocial  man,  an  unprofit- 
able man.  Gaming  is  a  mode  of  transferring  property  with- 
out producing  any  intermediate  good.  Trade  gives  employ- 
ment to  numbers,  and  so  produces  intermediate  good.' 

On  Thursday,  April  9,  I  called  on  him  to  beg  he  would  go 
and  dine  with  me  at  the  Mitre  tavern.  He  had  resolved  not 
to  dine  at  all  this  day,  I  know  not  for  what  reason;  and 
I  was  so  unwilling  to  be  deprived  of  his  company,  that  I 
was  content  to  submit  to  suffer  a  want,  which  was  at  first 
somewhat  painful,  but  he  soon  made  me  forget  it;  and  a  man 
is  always  pleased  with  himself  when  he  finds  his  intellectual 
inclinations  predominate. 

He  observed,  that  to  reason  philosophically  on  the  nature 
of  prayer,  was  very  unprofitable. 

Talking  of  ghosts,  he  said,  he  knew  one  friend,  who  was 
an  honest  man  and  a  sensible  man,  who  told  him  he  had  seen 
a  ghost,  old  Mr.  Edward  Cave,  the  printer  at  St.  John's 
Gate.  He  said,  Mr.  Cave  did  not  like  to  talk  of  it,  and  seemed 
to  be  in  great  horrour  whenever  it  was  mentioned.  Bos- 
well.  'Pray,  Sir,  what  did  he  say  was  the  appearance?' 
Johnson.     'Why,  Sir,  something  of  a  shadowy  being.' 

On  Friday,  April  10,  I  dined  with  him  at  General  Ogle- 
thorpe's, where  we  found  Dr.  Goldsmith. 

I  started  the  question  whether  duelling  was  consistent 
with  moral  duty.  The  brave  old  General  fired  at  this,  and 
said,  with  a  lofty  air,  'Undoubtedly  a  man  has  a  right  to 
defend  his  honour.'  Goldsmith,  (turning  to  me,)  'I  ask 
you  first.  Sir,  what  would  you  do  if  you  were  affronted?' 
I  answered  I  should  think  it  necessary  to  fight.  'Why  then, 
(replied  Goldsmith,)  that  solves  the  question.'  Johnson. 
*No,  Sir,  it  does  not  solve  the  question.  It  does  not  follow 
that  what  a  man  would  do  is  therefore  right.'  I  said,  I 
wished  to  have  it  settled,  whether  duelling  was  contrary  to 
the  laws  of  Christianity.  Johnson  immediately  entered  on 
the  subject,  and  treated  it  in  a  masterly  manner;  and  so 
far  as  I  have  been  able  to  recollect,  his  thoughts  were  these: 
'Sir,  as  men  become  in  a  high  degree  refined,  various  causes 
of  offence  arise;  which  are  considered  to  be  of  such  impwr- 
tance.  that  life  must  be  staked  to  atone  for  them,  though  in 


192  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1772 

reality  they  are  not  so.  A  body  that  has  received  a  very  fine 
polish  may  be  easily  hurt.  Before  men  arrive  at  this  arti- 
ficial refinement,  if  one  tells  his  neighbour  he  lies,  his  neigh- 
bour tells  him  he  lies;  if  one  gives  his  neighbour  a  blow,  his 
neighbour  gives  him  a  blow:  but  in  a  state  of  highly  pol- 
ished society,  an  affront  is  held  to  be  a  serious  injury.  It 
must  therefore  be  resented,  or  rather  a  duel  must  be  fought 
upon  it;  as  men  have  agreed  to  banish  from  their  society 
one  who  puts  up  with  an  affront  without  fighting  a  duel. 
Now,  Sir,  it  is  never  unlawful  to  fight  in  self-defence.  He, 
then,  who  fights  a  duel,  does  not  fight  from  passion  against 
his  antagonist,  but  out  of  self-defence;  to  avert  the  stigma 
of  the  world,  and  to  prevent  himself  from  being  driven  out 
of  society.  I  could  wish  there  was  not  that  superfluity  of 
refinement;  but  while  such  notions  prevail,  no  doubt  a  man 
may  lawfully  fight  a  duel.' 

The  General  told  us,  that  when  he  was  a  very  young  man, 
I  think  only  fifteen,  serving  under  Prince  Eugene  of  Savoy, 
he  was  sitting  in  a  company  at  table  with  a  Prince  of  Wir- 
temberg.  The  Prince  took  up  a  glass  of  wine,  and,  by  a 
fillip,  made  some  of  it  fly  in  Oglethorpe's  face.  Here  was  a 
nice  dilemma.  To  have  challenged  him  instantly,  might 
have  fixed  a  quarrelsome  character  upon  the  young  soldier: 
to  have  taken  no  notice  of  it  might  have  been  considered  as 
cowardice.  Oglethorpe,  therefore,  keeping  his  eye  upon  the 
Prince,  and  smiling  all  the  time,  as  if  he  took  what  his  High- 
ness had  done  in  jest,  said  'ilfon  Prince, — '  (I  forget  the 
French  words  he  used,  the  purport  however  was,)  'That's 
a  good  joke ;  but  we  do  it  much  better  in  England ; '  and  threw 
a  whole  glass  of  wine  in  the  Prince's  face.  An  old  General 
who  sat  by,  said,  '/Z  a  bien  fait,  mon  Prince,  vous  Vavez 
commence:^  and  thus  all  ended  in  good  humour. 

Dr.  Johnson  said,  'Pray,  General,  give  us  an  account  of 
the  siege  of  Belgrade.'  Upon  which  the  General,  pouring 
a  little  wine  upon  the  table,  described  every  thing  with  a 
wet  finger:  'Here  we  were,  here  were  the  Turks,' &c.  &c. 
Johnson  listened  with  the  closest  attention. 

A  question  was  started,  how  far  people  who  disagree  in 
a  capital  point  can  live  in  friendship  together.    Johnson 


17721  FRIENDSHIP  193 

said  they  might.  Goldsmith  said  they  could  not,  as  they 
had  not  the  idem  velle  cdque  idem  nolle — the  same  likings  and 
the  same  aversions.  Johnson,  '^\^ly,  Sir,  you  must  shun 
the  subject  as  to  which  you  disagree.  For  instance,  I  can 
live  very  well  with  Burke:  I  love  his  knowledge,  his  genius, 
his  diffusion,  and  affluence  of  conversation ;  but  I  would  not 
talk  to  him  of  the  Rockingham  party.'  Goldsmith.  '  But, 
Sir,  when  people  live  together  who  have  something  as  to 
which  they  disagree,  and  which  they  want  to  shun,  they  will 
be  in  the  situation  mentioned  in  the  story  of  Bluebeard: 
"You  may  look  into  all  the  chambers  but  one."  But  we 
should  have  the  greatest  inclination  to  look  into  that  cham- 
ber, to  talk  of  that  subject.'  Johnson,  (with  a  loud  voice,) 
'Sir,  I  am  not  saying  that  you  could  live  in  friendship  with 
a  man  from  whom  you  differ  as  to  some  point:  I  am  only 
saying  that  /  could  do  it.  You  put  me  in  mind  of  Sappho 
in  Ovid.' 

Goldsmith  told  us,  that  he  was  now  busy  in  writing  a 
natural  history,  and,  that  he  might  have  full  leisure  for  it,  he 
had  taken  lodgings,  at  a  farmer's  house,  near  to  the  six  mile- 
stone, on  the  Edgeware  road,  and  had  carried  down  his  books 
in  two  returned  post-chaises.  He  said,  he  believed  the 
farmer's  family  thought  him  an  odd  character,  similar  to 
that  in  which  the  Spectator  app)eared  to  his  landlady  and  her 
children:  he  was  The  Genttemnn.  Mr.  Mickle,  the  trans- 
lator of  The  Lusiad,  and  I  went  to  visit  him  at  this  place  a 
few  days  afterwards.  He  was  not  at  home;  but  having  a 
curiosity  to  see  his  ajmrtment,  we  went  in  and  found  curious 
scraps  of  descriptions  of  animals,  scrawled  up)on  the  wall 
with  a  black  lead  pencil. 

On  Saturday,  April  11,  he  appointed  me  to  come  to  him 
in  the  evening,  when  he  should  be  at  leisure  to  give  me  some 
assistance  for  the  defence  of  Hastie,  the  schoolmaster  of 
Campbelltown,  for  whom  I  was  to  appear  in  the  House  of 
Lords.  When  I  came,  I  found  him  unwilling  to  exert  him- 
self. I  pressed  him  to  write  down  his  thoughts  upon  the 
subject.  He  said,  'There's  no  occasion  for  my  writing. 
I'll  talk  to  you.'  .  .  . 

Of  our  friend,  Goldsmith,  he  said,  'Sir,  he  is  so  much 


lU  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1772 

afraid  of  being  unnoticed,  that  he  often  talks  merely  lest 
you  should  forget  that  he  is  in  the  company.'  Boswell. 
'Yes,  he  stands  forward.'  Johnson.  'True,  Sir;  but  if  a 
man  is  to  stand  forward,  he  should  wish  to  do  it  not  in  an 
aukward  pxjsture,  not  in  rags,  not  so  as  that  he  shall  only 
be  exposed  to  ridicule.'  Boswell.  'For  my  part,  I  like 
very  well  to  hear  honest  Goldsmith  talk  away  carelessly.' 
Johnson.  'Why  yes.  Sir;  but  he  should  not  like  to  hear 
himself.'  .  .  . 

On  Tuesday,  April  14,  the  decree  of  the  Court  of  Session 
in  the  schoolmaster's  cause  was  reversed  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  after  a  very  eloquent  speech  by  Lord  Mansfield,  who 
shewed  himself  an  adept  in  school  discipline,  but  I  thought 
was  too  rigorous  towards  my  client.  On  the  evening  of  the 
next  day  I  supped  with  Dr.  Johnson,  at  the  Crown  and 
Anchor  tavern,  in  the  Strand,  in  company  with  Mr.  Lang- 
ton  and  his  brother-in-law,  Lord  Binning. 

I  talked  of  the  recent  expulsion  of  six  students  from  the 
University  of  Oxford,  who  were  methodists  and  would  not 
desist  from  publickly  praying  and  exhorting.  Johnson. 
'Sir,  that  expulsion  was  extremely  just  and  proper.  What 
have  they  to  do  at  an  University  who  are  not  willing  to  be 
taught,  but  will  presume  to  teach?  Where  is  religion  to 
be  learnt  but  at  an  University?  Sir,  they  were  examined, 
and  found  to  be  mighty  ignorant  fellows.'  Boswell.  'But, 
was  it  not  hard,  Sir,  to  expel  them,  for  I  am  told  they  were 
good  beings?'  Johnson.  'I  believe  they  might  be  good 
beings;  but  they  were  not  fit  to  be  in  the  University  of 
Oxford.  A  cow  is  a  very  good  animal  in  the  field;  but  we 
turn  her  out  of  a  garden.'  Lord  Elibank  used  to  rep)eat 
this  as  an  illustration  uncommonly  happy. 

Desirous  of  calling  Johnson  forth  to  talk,  and  exercise 
his  wit,  though  I  should  myself  be  the  object  of  it,  I  reso- 
lutely ventured  to  undertake  the  defence  of  convivial  in- 
dulgence in  wine,  though  he  was  not  to-night  in  the  most 
genial  humour.  After  urging  the  common  plausible  topicks,. 
I  at  last  had  recourse  to  the  maxim,  in  vino  Veritas,  a  man 
who  is  well  warmed  with  wine  will  speak  truth.  Johnson. 
'  Why,  Sir,  that  may  be  an  argument  for  drinking,  if  you 


1772]       HE  READS  THE  BIBLE  THROUGH  195 

suppose  men  in  general  to  be  liars.  But,  Sir,  I  would  not 
keep  company  with  a  fellow,  who  lyes  as  long  as  he  is  sober, 
and  whom  you  must  make  drunk  before  you  can  get  a  word 
of  truth  out  of  him.' 

At  this  time  it  appears  from  his  Prayers  and  Meditations, 
that  he  had  been  more  than  conunonly  diligent  in  religious 
duties,  particularly  in  reading  the  Holy  Scriptures.  It  was 
Passion  Week,  that  solemn  season  which  the  Christian  world 
has  appropriated  to  the  commemoration  of  the  mysteries  of 
our  redemption,  and  during  which,  whatever  embers  of  re- 
ligion are  in  our  breasts,  will  be  kindled  into  pious  warmth. 

I  paid  him  short  visits  both  on  Friday  and  Saturday,  and 
seeing  his  large  folio  Greek  Testament  before  him,  beheld 
him  with  a  reverential  awe,  and  would  not  intrude  upon  his- 
time.  While  he  was  thus  employed  to  such  good  ptirpose, 
and  while  his  friends  in  their  intercourse  with  him  con- 
stantly found  a  vigorous  intellect  and  a  lively  imagination, 
it  is  melancholy  to  read  in  his  private  register,  'My  mind 
is  unsettled  and  my  memory  confused.  I  have  of  late 
turned  my  thoughts  with  a  very  useless  earnestness  upon 
past  incidents.  I  have  yet.  got  no  command  over  my 
thoughts;  an  unpleasing  incident  is  almost  certain  to  hin- 
der my  rest.'  What  philosophick  heroism  was  it  in  him 
to  appear  with  such  manly  fortitude  to  the  world,  while  he 
was  inwardly  so  distressed !  We  may  surely  believe  that 
the  mysterious  principle  of  being  'made  perfect  through, 
suffering'  was  to  be  strongly  exemplified  in  him. 

On  Sunday,  April  19,  being  Easter-day,  General  Paoli 
and  I  paid  him  a  visit  before  dinner. 

We  talked  of  sounds.  The  General  said,  there  was  no- 
beauty  in  a  simple  sound,  but  only  in  an  harmonious  com- 
position of  sounds.  I  presumed  to  differ  from  this  opinion, 
and  mentioned  the  soft  and  sweet  sound  of  a  fine  woman's 
voice.  Johnson.  'No,  Sir,  if  a  serpent  or  a  toad  uttered 
it,  you  would  think  it  ugly.'  Boswell.  'So  you  would 
think.  Sir,  were  a  beautiful  tune  to  be  uttered  by  one  of 
those  animals.'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir,  it  would  be  admired.. 
We  have  seen  fine  fiddlers  whom  we  liked  as  little  as  toads/ 
(laughing.) 


196  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1772 

While  I  remained  in  London  this  spring,  I  was  with  him 
at  several  other  times,  both  by  himself  and  in  company.  I 
dined  with  him  one  day  at  the  Crown  and  Anchor  tavern, 
in  the  Strand,  with  Lord  Elibank,  Mr.  Langton,  and  Dr. 
Vansittart  of  Oxford.  Without  specifying  each  particular 
day,  I  have  preserved  the  following  memorable  things. 

I  regretted  the  reflection  in  his  Preface  to  Shakspeare 
against  Garrick,  to  whom  we  cannot  but  apply  the  follow- 
ing passage:  'I  collated  such  copies  as  I  could  procure,  and 
wished  for  more,  but  have  not  found  the  collectors  of  these 
rarities  very  communicative.'  I  told  him,  that  Garrick  had 
complained  to  me  of  it,  and  had  vindicated  himself  by  assur- 
ing me,  that  Johnson  was  made  welcome  to  the  full  use  of 
his  collection,  and  that  he  left  the  key  of  it  with  a  servant, 
with  orders  to  have  a  fire  and  every  convenience  for  him. 
I  found  Johnson's  notion  was,  that  Garrick  wanted  to  be 
courted  for  them,  and  that,  on  the  contrary,  Garrick  should 
have  courted  him,  and  sent  him  the  plays  of  his  own  accord. 
But,  indeed,  considering  the  slovenly  and  careless  manner 
in  which  books  were  treated  by  Johnson,  it  could  not  be 
expected  that  scarce  and  valuable  editions  should  have  been 
lent  to  him. 

A  gentleman^  having  to  some  of  the  usual  arguments  for 
drinking  added  this:  'You  know.  Sir,  drinking  drives  away 
care,  and  makes  us  forget  whatever  is  disagreeable.  Would 
not  you  allow  a  man  to  drink  for  that  reason?'  Johnson. 
'Yes,  Sir,  if  he  sat  next  you.' 

A  learned  gentleman  who  in  the  course  of  conversation 
wished  to  inform  us  of  this  simple  fact,  that  the  Counsel 
upon  the  circuit  at  Shrewsbury  were  much  bitten  by  fleas, 
took,  I  suppose,  seven  or  eight  minutes  in  relating  it  cir- 
cumstantially. He  in  a  plenitude  of  phrase  told  us,  that 
large  bales  of  woollen  cloth  were  lodged  in  the  town-hall; 
— that  by  reason  of  this,  fleas  nestled  there  in  prodigious 
numbers;  that  the  lodgings  of  the  counsel  were  near  to  the 
town-hall; — and  that  those  little  animals  moved  from  place 
to  place  with  wonderful  agility.  Johnson  sat  in  great  im- 
patience till  the  gentleman  had  finished  his  tedious  narra- 
>  The  gentleman  most  likely  is  Boswell. — Hill. 


17721  UNIMPORTANCE  OF  CLIMATE  197 

tive,  and  then  burst  out  (playfully  however),  'It  is  a  pity, 
Sir,  that  you  have  not  seen  a  lion;  for  a  fiea  has  taken  you 
such  a  time,  that  a  lion  must  have  served  you  a  twelve- 
month.' 

He  would  not  allow  Scotland  to  derive  any  credit  from  Lord 
Mansfield;  for  he  was  educated  in  England.  'Much  (said 
he,)  may  be  made  of  a  Scotchman,  if  he  be  caught  young.' 

He  said,  'I  am  very  unwilling  to  read  the  manuscripts  of 
authours,  and  give  them  my  opinion.  If  the  authours  who 
apply  to  me  have  money,  I  bid  them  boldly  print  without 
a  name;  if  they  have  \vritten  in  order  to  get  money,  I  tell 
them  to  go  to  the  booksellers,  and  make  the  best  bargain 
they  can.'  Boswell.  'But,  Sir,  if  a  bookseller  should 
bring  you  a  manuscript  to  look  at?'  Johnson.  'Why, 
Sir,  I  would  desire  the  bookseller  to  take  it  away.' 

I  mentioned  a  friend  of  mine  who  had  resided  long  in 
Spain,  and  was  unwilling  to  return  to  Britain.  Johnson. 
'Sir,  he  is  attached  to  some  woman.'  Boswell.  'I  rather 
believe.  Sir,  it  is  the  fine  climate  which  keeps  him  there.* 
Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  how  can  you  talk  so?  What  is 
climate  to  happiness?  Place  me  in  the  heart  of  Asia,  should 
I  not  be  exiled?  What  proportion  does  climate  bear  to  the 
complex  system  of  human  life?  You  may  advise  me  to  go 
to  live  at  Bologna  to  eat  sausages.  The  sausages  there  are 
the  best  in  the  world;  they  lose  much  by  being  carried.' 

On  Saturday,  May  9,  Mr.  Dempster  and  I  had  agreed  to 
dine  by  ourselves  at  the  British  Coffee-house.  Johnson, 
on  whom  I  happened  to  call  in  the  morning,  said  he  would 
join  us,  which  he  did,  and  we  spent  a  very  agreeable  day, 
though  I  recollect  but  little  of  what  passed. 

He  said,  'Walpole  was  a  minister  given  by  the  King  to 
the  people:  Pitt  was  a  minister  given  by  the  people  to  the 
King, — as  an  adjunct.' 

'The  misfortune  of  Goldsmith  in  conversation  is  this:  he 
goes  on  without  knowing  how  he  is  to  get  off.  His  genius 
is  great,  but  his  knowledge  is  small.  As  they  say  of  a  gen- 
erous man,  it  is  a  pity  he  is  not  rich,  we  may  say  of  Gold- 
smith, it  is  a  pity  he  is  not  knowing.  He  would  not  keep  his 
knowledge  to  himself.' 


198  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

1773:  iETAT.  64.] — In  1773  his  only  publication  was  an 
•edition  of  his  folio  Dictionary,  with  additions  and  corrections ; 
nor  did  he,  so  far  as  is  known,  furnish  any  productions  of  his 
fertile  pen  to  any  of  his  numerous  friends  or  dependants, 
except  the  Preface  to  his  old  amanuensis  Macbean's  Die- 
lionary  of  Ancient  Geography. 

'  To  James  Boswell,  Esq, 

'Dear  Sir, —  ...  A  new  edition  of  my  great  Dictionary 
is  printed,  from  a  copy  which  I  was  persuaded  to  revise; 
lt)ut  having  made  no  preparation,  I  was  able  to  do  very 
little.  Some  superfluities  I  have  expunged,  and  some  faults 
I  have  corrected,  and  here  and  there  have  scattered  a 
remark;  but  the  main  fabrick  of  the  work  remains  as  it 
was.  I  had  looked  very  little  into  it  since  I  wrote  it, 
and,  I  think,  I  found  it  full  as  often  better,  as  worse,  than  I 
expected. 

'  Baretti  and  Davies  have  had  a  furious  quarrel ;  a  quarrel, 
I  think,  irreconcileable.  Dr.  Goldsmith  has  a  new  comedy, 
which  is  expected  in  the  spring.  No  name  is  yet  given  it. 
The  chief  diversion  arises  from  a  stratagem  by  which  a  lover 
is  made  to  mistake  his  future  father-in-law's  house  for  an 
inn.  This,  you  see,  borders  upon  farce.  The  dialogue  is 
quick  and  gay,  and  the  incidents  are  so  prepared  as  not  to  seem 
improbable.  .  .  . 

'My  health  seems  in  general  to  improve;  but  I  have  been 
troubled  for  many  weeks  with  a  vexatious  catarrh,  which  is 
«ometimes  sufficiently  distressful.  I  have  not  found  any 
great  effects  from  bleeding  and  physick;  and  am  afraid, 
that  I  must  expect  help  from  brighter  days  and  softer  air. 

'Write  to  me  now  and  then;  and  whenever  any  good 
I)efalls  you,  make  haste  to  let  me  know  it,  for  no  one  will 
rejoice  at  it  more  than,  dear  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'London,  Feb.  24,  1773.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

'You  continue  to  stand  very  high  in  the  favour  of  Mrs. 
Thrale.' 

While  a  former  edition  of  my  work  was  passing  through 
the  press,  I  was  unexpectedly  favoured  with  a  packet  from 


17731  A  PACKET  FROM  AMERICA  199 

Philadelphia,  from  Mr.  James  Abercrombie,  a  gentleman  of 
that  country,  who  is  pleased  to  honour  me  with  very  high 
praise  of  my  Life  of  Dr.  Johnson.  To  have  the  fame  of  my 
illustrious  friend,  and  his  faithful  biographer,  echoed  from 
the  New  World  is  extremely  flattering;  and  my  grateful 
acknowledgements  shall  be  wafted  across  the  Atlantick. 
Mr.  Abercrombie  has  politely  conferred  on  me  a  considerable 
additional  obligation,  by  transmitting  to  me  copies  of  two 
letters  from  Dr.  Johnson  to  American  gentlemen. 

On  Saturday,  April  3,  the  day  after  my  arrival  in  London 
this  year,  I  went  to  his  house  late  in  the  evening,  and  sat  with 
Mrs.  Williams  till  he  came  home.  I  found  in  the  London 
Chronicle,  Dr.  Goldsmith's  apwlogy  to  the  publick  for  beating 
Evans,  a  bookseller,  on  account  of  a  paragraph  in  a  news- 
paper published  by  him,  which  Goldsmith  thought  imper- 
tinent to  him  and  to  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance.  The  apol- 
ogy was  written  so  much  in  Dr.  Johnson's  manner,  that  both 
Mrs.  Williams  and  I  supposed  it  to  be  his;  but  when  he 
came  home,  he  soon  undeceived  us.  When  he  said  to  Mrs. 
WiUiams,  '  Well,  Dr.  Goldsmith's  nmnifesto  has  got  into  your 
paper;'  I  asked  him  if  Dr.  Goldsmith  had  written  it,  with 
an  air  that  made  him  see  I  suspected  it  was  his,  though  sub- 
scribed by  Goldsmith.  Johnson.  'Sir,  Dr.  Goldsmith 
would  no  more  have  asked  me  to  write  such  a  thing  as  that 
for  him,  than  he  would  have  asked  me  to  feed  him  with  a 
spoon,  or  to  do  anything  else  that  denoted  his  imbecility. 
I  as  much  believe  that  he  wrote  it,  as  if  I  had  seen  him  do 
it.  Sir,  had  he  shewn  it  to  any  one  friend,  he  would  not 
have  been  allowed  to  publish  it.  He  has,  indeed,  done  it 
very  well;  but  it  is  a  foolish  thing  well  done.  I  suppose  he 
has  been  so  much  elated  with  the  success  of  his  new  com- 
edy, that  he  has  thought  every  thing  that  concerned  him 
must  be  of  importance  to  the  publick.'  Boswell.  '  I  fancy, 
Sir,  this  is  the  first  time  that  he  has  been  engaged  in  such  an 
adventure.'  Johnson.  'Why.  Sir,  I  believe  it  is  the  first 
time  he  has  heat;  he  may  have  been  beaten  before.  This, 
Sir,  is  a  new  plume  to  him.' 

At  Mr.  Thrale's,  in  the  evening,  he  repeated  his  usual 
paradoxical  declamation  against  action  in  publick  speaking. 


200  .      LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [im 

'Action  can  have  no  effect  upon  reasonable  minds.  It  may 
augment  noise,  but  it  never  can  enforce  argument.' 

Lord  Chesterfield  being  mentioned,  Johnson  remarked, 
that  almost  all  of  that  celebrated  nobleman's  witty  sayings 
were  puns.  He,  however,  allowed  the  merit  of  good  wit  to 
his  Lordship's  saying  of  Lord  Tyrawley  and  himself,  when 
both  very  old  and  infirm:  'Tyrawley  and  I  have  been  dead 
these  two  years;  but  we  don't  choose  to  have  it  known.' 

The  conversation  having  turned  on  modern  imitations  of 
ancient  ballads,  and  some  one  having  praised  their  sim- 
plicity, he  treated  them  with  that  ridicule  which  he  always 
displayed  when  that  subject  was  mentioned. 

He  disapproved  of  introducing  scripture  phrases  into 
secular  discourse.  This  seemed  to  me  a  question  of  some 
difficulty.  A  scripture  expression  may  be  used,  like  a  highly 
classical  phrase,  to  produce  an  instantaneous  strong  impres- 
sion; and  it  may  be  done  without  being  at  all  improper. 
Yet  I  own  there  is  danger,  that  applying  the  language  of  our 
sacred  book  to  ordinary  subjects  may  tend  to  lessen  our 
reverence  for  it.  If  therefore  it  be  introduced  at  all,  it 
should  be  with  very  great  caution. 

On  Thursday,  April  8, 1  sat  a  good  part  of  the  evening  with 
him,  but  he  was  very  silent. 

Though  he  was  not  disposed  to  talk,  he  was  unwilling  that 
I  should  leave  him;  and  when  I  looked  at  my  watch,  and 
told  him  it  was  twelve  o'clock,  he  cried,  'What's  that  to  you 
and  me?'  and  ordered  Frank  to  tell  Mrs.  Williams  that  we 
were  coming  to  drink  tea  with  her,  which  we  did.  It  was 
settled  that  we  should  go  to  church  together  next  day. 

On  the  9th  of  April,  being  Good  Friday,  I  breakfasted  with 
him  on  tea  and  cross-buns;  Doctor  Levet,  as  Frank  called 
hiln,  making  the  tea.  He  carried  me  with  him  to  the  church 
of  St.  Clement  Danes,  where  he  had  his  seat;  and  his  be- 
haviour was,  as  I  had  imaged  to  myself,  solemnly  devout. 
I  never  shall  forget  the  tremulous  earnestness  with  which 
he  pronounced  the  awful  petition  in  the  Litany:  'In  the 
hour  of  death,  and  at  the  day  of  judgement,  good  Lord 
deliver  us.' 

We  went  to  church  both  in  the  morning  and  evening.    In 


17731  DINNER  AT  JOHNSON'S  HOUSE  201 

the  interval  between  the  two  services  we  did  not  dine;  but 
he  read  in  the  Greek  New  Testament,  and  I  turned  over 
several  of  his  books. 

I  told  him  that  Goldsmith  had  said  to  me  a  few  days 
before,  'As  I  take  my  shoes  from  the  shoemaker,  and  my 
coat  from  the  taylor,  so  I  take  my  religion  from  the  priest.' 
I  regretted  this  loose  way  of  talking.  Johnson.  'Sir,  he 
knows  nothing;  he  has  made  up  his  mind  about  nothing.' 

To  my  great  surprize  he  asked  me  to  dine  with  him  on 
Easter-day.  I  never  supposed  that  he  had  a  dinner  at  his 
house;  for  I  had  not  then  heard  of  any  one  of  his  friends 
having  been  entertained  at  his  table.  He  told  me,  'I  gen- 
erally have  a  meat  pye  on  Sunday:  it  is  baked  at  a  pubUck 
oven,  which  is  very  properly  allowed,  because  one  man  can 
attend  it;  and  thus  the  advantage  is  obtained  of  not  keep- 
ing servants  from  church  to  dress  dinners.' 

April  11,  being  Easter-Sunday,  after  having  attended 
Divine  Service  at  St.  Paul's,  I  repaired  to  Dr.  Johnson's. 
I  had  gratified  my  curiosity  much  in  dining  with  Jean 
Jaques  Rousseau,  while  he  lived  in  the  wilds  of  Neufchatel: 
I  had  as  great  a  curiosity  to  dine  with  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson, 
in  the  dusky  recess  of  a  court  in  Fleet-street.  I  supposed 
we  should  scarcely  have  knives  and  forks,  and  only  some 
strange,  uncouth,  ill-drest  dish:  but  I  found  every  thing  in 
very  good  order.  We  had  no  other  company  but  Mrs. 
Williams  and  a  young  woman  whom  I  did  not  know.  As  a 
dinner  here  was  considered  as  a  singular  phsenomenon,  and 
as  I  was  frequently  interrogated  on  the  subject,  my  readers 
may  perhaps  be  desirous  to  know  our  bill  of  fare.  Foote, 
I  remember,  in  allusion  to  Francis,  the  negro,  was  willing 
to  suppose  that  our  repast  was  black  broth.  But  the  fact  was, 
that  we  had  a  very  good  soup,  a  boiled  leg  of  lamb  and 
spinach,  a  veal  pye,  and  a  rice  pudding. 

He  owned  that  he  thought  Hawkesworth  was  one  of  his 
imitators,  but  he  did  not  think  Goldsmith  was.  Goldsmith, 
he  said,  had  great  merit.  Boswell.  '  But,  Sir,  he  is  much 
indebted  to  you  for  his  getting  so  high  in  the  publick  esti- 
mation.' Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  he  has  perhaps  got  sooner 
to  it  by  his  intimacy  with  me.' 


202  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i773 

Goldsmith,  though  his  vanity  often  excited  him  to  occa- 
sional competition,  had  a  very  high  regard  for  Johnson, 
which  he  at  this  time  expressed  in  the  strongest  manner  in 
the  Dedication  of  his  comedy,  entitled,  She  Stoops  to  Conquer. 

He  told  me  that  he  had  twelve  or  fourteen  times  at- 
tempted to  keep  a  journal  of  his  life,  but  never  could  per- 
severe. He  advised  me  to  do  it.  'The  great  thing  to  be 
recorded,  (said  he,)  is  the  state  of  your  own  mind;  and  you 
should  write  down  every  thing  that  you  remember,  for  you 
cannot  judge  at  first  what  is  good  or  bad;  and  write  immedi- 
ately while  the  impression  is  fresh,  for  it  will  not  be  the  same 
a  week  afterwards.' 

I  again  solicited  him  to  communicate  to  me  the  particulars 
of  his  early  life.  He  said,  'You  shall  have  them  all  for  two- 
pence. I  hope  you  shall  know  a  great  deal  more  of  me  be- 
fore you  write  my  Life.'  He  mentioned  to  me  this  day 
many  circumstances,  which  I  wrote  down  when  I  went  home, 
and  have  interwoven  in  the  former  part  of  this  narrative. 

On  Tuesday,  April  13,  he  and  Dr.  Goldsmith  and  I  dined 
at  General  Oglethorpe's.  Goldsmith  expatiated  on  the  com- 
mon topick,  that  the  race  of  our  people  was  degenerated, 
and  that  this  was  owing  to  luxury.  Johnson.  'Sir,  in  the 
first  place,  I  doubt  the  fact.  I  believe  there  are  as  many 
tall  men  in  England  now,  as  ever  there  were.  But,  secondly, 
supposing  the  stature  of  our  people  to  be  diminished,  that  is 
not  owing  to  luxury;  for.  Sir,  consider  to  how  very  small 
a  proportion  of  our  people  luxury  can  reach.  Our  soldiery, 
surely,  are  not  luxurious,  who  live  on  sixpence  a  day;  and 
the  same  remark  will  apply  to  almost  all  the  other  classes. 
Luxury,  so  far  as  it  reaches  the  poor,  will  do  good  to  the 
race  of  people;  it  will  strengthen  and  multiply  them.  Sir, 
no  nation  was  ever  hurt  by  luxury;  for,  as  I  said  before,  it 
can  reach  but  to  a  very  few.  I  admit  that  the  great  increase 
of  commerce  and  manufactures  hurts  the  military  spirit  of 
a  people;  because  it  produces  a  competition  for  something 
else  than  martial  honours, — a  competition  for  riches.  It 
also  hurts  the  bodies  of  the  people;  for  you  will  observe, 
there  is  no  man  who  works  at  any  particular  trade,  but  you 
may  know  him  from  his  appearance  to  do  so.    One  part  or 


1773]  VALUE  OF  LEISURE  20^ 

other  of  his  body  being  more  used  than  the  rest,  he  is  in 
some  degree  deformed:  but,  Sir,  that  is  not  luxury.  A 
tailor  sits  cross-legged ;  but  that  is  not  luxury.*  Goldsmith. 
'Ck)me,  you're  just  going  to  the  same  place  by  another  road.' 
Johnson.  *  Nay,  Sir,  I  say  that  is  not  luxury.  Let  us  take 
a  walk  from  Charing-cross  to  White-chapel,  through,  I  sup- 
pose, the  greatest  series  of  shops  in  the  world;  what  is  there 
in  any  of  these  shops  (if  you  except  gin-shops,)  that  can  do 
any  human  being  any  harm?'  Goldsmith.  'Well,  Sir,  I'll 
accept  your  challenge.  The  very  next  shop  to  Northumber- 
land-house is  a  pickle-shop.'  Johnson.  'Well,  Sir:  do  we 
not  know  that  a  maid  can  in  one  afternoon  make  pickles 
sufficient  to  serve  a  whole  family  for  a  year?  nay,  that  five 
pickle-shops  can  serve  all  the  kingdom?  Besides,  Sir,  there 
is  no  harm  done  to  any  body  by  the  making  of  pickles,  or 
the  eating  of  pickles.' 

We  drank  tea  with  the  ladies;  and  Goldsmith  sung  Tony 
Lumpkin's  song  in  his  comedy.  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  and 
a  very  pretty  one,  to  an  Irish  tune,  which  he  had  designed 
for  Miss  Hardcastle;  but  as  Mrs.  Bulkeley,  who  played  the 
part,  could  not  sing,  it  was  left  out.  He  afterwards  wrote 
it  down  for  me,  by  which  means  it  was  preserved,  and  now 
appears  amongst  his  poems.  Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  way  home, 
stopped  at  my  lodgings  in  Piccadilly,  and  sat  with  me» 
drinking  tea  a  second  time,  till  a  late  hour. 

I  told  him  that  Mrs.  Macaulay  said,  she  wondered  how  he 
could  reconcile  his  political  principles  with  his  moral;  his 
notions  of  inequality  and  subordination  with  wishing  well  to 
the  happiness  of  all  mankind,  who  might  live  so  agreeably, 
had  they  all  their  portions  of  land,  and  none  to  domineer 
over  another.  Johnson,  'Why,  Sir,  I  reconcile  my  prin- 
ciples very  well,  because  mankind  are  happier  in  a  state  of 
inequality  and  subordination.  Were  they  to  be  in  this, 
pretty  state  of  equality,  they  would  soon  degenerate  into 
brutes; — they  would  become  Monboddo's  nation; — their 
tails  would  grow.  Sir,  all  would  be  losers  were  all  to  work 
for  all: — they  would  have  no  intellectual  improvement.  All 
intellectual  improvement  arises  from  leisure;  all  leisure 
arises  from  one  working  for  another.' 


204  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

Talking  of  the  family  of  Stuart,  he  said,  'It  should  seem 
that  the  family  at  present  on  the  throne  has  now  established 
as  good  a  right  as  the  former  family,  by  the  long  consent  of 
the  people;  and  that  to  disturb  this  right  might  be  con- 
sidered as  culpable.  At  the  same  time  I  own,  that  it  is  a  very 
difficult  question,  when  considered  with  respect  to  the  house 
of  Stuart.  To  oblige  people  to  take  oaths  as  to  the  disputed 
right,  is  wrong.  I  know  not  whether  I  could  take  them: 
but  I  do  not  blame  those  who  do.'  So  conscientious  and  so 
delicate  was  he  upon  this  subject,  which  has  occasioned  so 
much  clamour  against  him. 

On  Thursday,  April  15,  I  dined  with  him  and  Dr.  Gold- 
smith at  General  Paoli's. 

I  spoke  of  Allan  Ramsay's  Gentle  Shepherd,  in  the  Scottish 
dialect,  as  the  best  pastoral  that  had  ever  been  written;  not 
only  abounding  with  beautiful  rural  imagery,  and  just  and 
pleasing  sentiments,  but  being  a  real  picture  of  manners; 
and  I  offered  to  teach  Dr.  Johnson  to  understand  it.  *No, 
Sir,  (said  he,)  I  won't  learn  it.  You  shall  retain  your  superi- 
ority by  my  not  knowing  it.' 

It  having  been  observed  that  there  was  little  hospitality  in 
London; — ^Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  any  man  who  has  a  name, 
or  who  has  the  power  of  pleasing,  will  be  very  generally 
invited  in  London.  The  man,  Sterne,  I  have  been  told, 
has  had  engagements  for  three  months.'  Goldsmith.  'And 
a  very  dull  fellow.'    Johnson.     'Why,  no.  Sir.' 

Martinelli  told  us,  that  for  several  years  he  lived  much 
with  Charles  Townshend,  and  that  he  ventured  to  tell  him 
he  was  a  bad  joker.  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  thus  much  I  can 
say  upon  the  subject.  One  day  he  and  a  few  more  agreed 
to  go  and  dine  in  the  country,  and  each  of  them  was  to 
bring  a  friend  in  his  carriage  with  him.  Charles  Townshend 
asked  Fitzherbert  to  go  with  him,  but  told  him,  "You  must 
find  somebody  to  bring  you  back:  I  can  only  carry  you 
there."  Fitzherbert  did  not  much  like  this  arrangement. 
He  however  consented,  observing  sarcastically,  "It  will  do 
very  well;  for  then  the  same  jokes  will  serve  you  in  return- 
ing as  in  going."  ' 

An  eminent  publick  character  being  mentioned; — John- 


17731  ON  REVOLUTIONS  205 

SON.  '  I  remember  being  present  when  he  shewed  himself  to 
be  so  corrupted,  or  at  least  something  so  different  from  what 
I  think  right,  as  to  maintain,  that  a  meml)er  of  parliament 
should  go  along  with  his  party  right  or  wTong.  Now,  Sir, 
this  is  so  remote  from  native  virtue,  from  scholastick  virtue, 
that  a  good  man  must  have  undergone  a  great  change  before 
he  can  reconcile  himself  to  such  a  doctrine.  It  is  maintaining 
that  you  may  lie  to  the  publick;  for  you  lie  when  you  call 
that  right  which  you  think  wrong,  or  the  reverse.  A  friend 
of  ours,  who  is  too  much  an  echo  of  that  gentleman,  observed, 
that  a  man  who  does  not  stick  uniformly  to  a  f)arty,  is  only 
waiting  to  be  bought.  Why  then,  said  I,  he  is  only  waiting 
to  be  what  that  gentleman  is  already.' 

We  talked  of  the  King's  coming  to  see  Goldsmith's  new 
play. — 'I  wish  he  would,'  said  Goldsmith;  adding,  however, 
with  an  affected  indifference,  'Not  that  it  would  do  me  the 
least  good.'  Johnson.  'Well  then,  Sir,  let  us  say  it  would 
■do  him  good,  (laughing.)  No,  Sir,  this  affectation  will  not 
pass; — ^it  is  mighty  idle.  In  such  a  state  as  ours,  who  would 
not  wish  to  please  the  Chief  Magistrate?'  Goldsmith.  'I 
do  wish  to  please  him.     I  remember  a  line  in  Dry  den, — 

"And  every  poet  is  the  monarch's  friend." 

It  ought  to  be  reversed.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  there  are  finer 
lines  in  Dryden  on  this  subject: — 

"  For  colleges  on  bounteous  Kings  depend, 
And  never  rebel  was  to  arts  a  friend.'" 

General  Paoli  observed,  that  'successful  rebels  might.' 
Martinelli.  'Happy  rebellions.'  Goldsmith.  'We  have 
no  such  phrase.'  General  Paoli.  'But  have  you  not  the 
thing?'  Goldsmith.  'Yes;  all  our  happy  revolutions. 
They  have  hurt  our  constitution,  and  will  hurt  it,  till  we 
mend  it  by  another  happy  revolution.'  I  never  before 
discovered  that  my  friend  Goldsmith  had  so  much  of  the  old 
prejudice  in  him. 

General  Paoli,  talking  of  Goldsmith's  new  play,  said,'// 


206  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

a  fait  un  compliment  tres  gracieux  a  une  certaine  grande  darn^;' 
meaning  a  Duchess  of  the  first  rank. 

I  expressed  a  doubt  whether  Goldsmith  intended  it,  in 
order  that  I  might  hear  the  truth  from  himself.  It,  perhaps, 
was  not  quite  fair  to  endeavour  to  bring  him  to  a  confession, 
as  he  might  not  wish  to  avow  positively  his  taking  part 
against  the  Court.  He  smiled  and  hesitated.  The  General 
at  once  relieved  him,  by  this  beautiful  image:  ^Monsieur 
Goldsmith  est  comme  la  mer,  qui  jette  des  perles  et  beaucoup 
d'autres  belles  clioses,  sans  s'en  appercevoir.'  Goldsmith. 
'  Tres  bien  dit  et  tres  elegammentJ 

A  person  was  mentioned,  who  it  was  said  could  take  down 
in  short  hand  the  speeches  in  parliament  with  perfect  exact- 
ness. Johnson.  'Sir,  it  is  impossible.  I  remember  one, 
Angel,  who  came  to  me  to  write  for  him  a  Preface  or  Dedica- 
tion to  a  book  upon  short  hand,  and  he  professed  to  write  as 
fast  as  a  man  could  speak.  In  order  to  try  him,  I  took  down 
a  book,  and  read  while  he  wrote;  and  I  favoured  him,  for 
I  read  more  deliberately  than  usual.  I  had  proceeded  but 
a  very  little  way,  when  he  begged  I  would  desist,  for  he  could 
not  follow  me.'  Hearing  now  for  the  first  time  of  this  Pref- 
ace or  Dedication,  I  said,  'What  an  expense.  Sir,  do  you  put 
us  to  in  buying  books,  to  which  you  have  written  Prefaces  or 
Dedications.'  Johnson.  'Why,  I  have  dedicated  to  the 
Royal  family  all  round;  that  is  to  say,  to  the  last  generation 
of  the  Royal  family.'  Goldsmith.  'And  perhaps.  Sir,  not 
one  sentence  of  wit  in  a  whole  Dedication.'  Johnson. 
'Perhaps  not,  Sir.'  Boswell.  'What  then  is  the  reason 
for  applying  to  a  particular  person  to  do  that  which  any 
one  may  do  as  well?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  one  man  has 
greater  readiness  at  doing  it  than  another.' 

I  spoke  of  Mr.  Harris,  of  Salisbury,  as  being  a  very  learned 
man,  and  in  particular  an  eminent  Grecian.  Johnson. 
'I  am  not  sure  of  that.  His  friends  give  him  out  as  such,  but 
I  know  not  who  of  his  friends  are  able  to  judge  of  it.'  Gold- 
smith. 'He  is  what  is  much  better:  he  is  a  worthy  humane 
man.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  that  is  not  to  the  purpose  of 
our  argument :  that  will  as  much  prove  that  he  can  play  upon 
the  fiddle  as  well  as  Giardini,  as  that  he  is  an  eminent  Gre- 


1773]  A  PRINTER'S  COACH  207 

cian.'  Goldsmith.  'The  greatest  musical  performers  have 
but  small  emoluments.  Giardini,  I  am  told,  does  not  get 
above  seven  hundred  a  year.'  Johnson.  'That  is  indeed 
but  little  for  a  man  to  get,  who  does  best  that  which  so  many 
endeavour  to  do.  There  is  nothing,  I  think,  in  which  the 
power  of  art  is  shown  so  much  as  in  playing  on  the  fiddle. 
In  all  other  things  we  can  do  something  at  first.  Any  man 
will  forge  a  bar  of  iron,  if  you  give  him  a  hammer;  not  so 
weU  as  a  smith,  but  tolerably.  A  man  will  saw  a  piece  of 
wood,  and  make  a  box,  though  a  clumsy  one;  but  give  him 
a  fiddle  and  a  fiddle-stick,  and  he  can  do  nothing.' 

On  Monday,  April  19,  he  called  on  me  with  Mrs.  Williams, 
in  Mr.  Strahan's  coach,  and  carried  me  out  to  dine  with  Mr. 
Elphinston,  at  his  academy  at  Kensington.  A  printer  having 
acquired  a  fortune  sufiicient  to  keep  his  coach,  was  a  good 
topick  for  the  credit  of  literature.  Mrs.  Williams  said,  that 
another  printer,  Mr.  Hamilton,  had  not  waited  so  long  as 
Mr.  Strahan,  but  had  kept  his  coach  several  years  sooner. 
Johnson.  'He  was  in  the  right.  Life  is  short.  The  sooner 
that  a  man  begins  to  enjoy  his  wealth  the  better.' 

Mr.  Elphinston  talked  of  a  new  book  that  was  much  ad- 
mired, and  asked  Dr.  Johnson  if  he  had  read  it.  Johnson. 
'I  have  looked  into  it.'  'What,  (said  Elphinston,)  have  you 
not  read  it  through?'  Johnson,  offended  at  being  thus 
pressed,  and  so  obliged  to  own  his  cursory  mode  of  reading^ 
answered  tartly,  '  No,  Sir,  do  you  read  books  thro^igh  f ' 

On  Wednesday,  April  21, 1  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Thrale's. 
A  gentleman  attacked  Garrick  for  being  vain.  Johnson. 
'No  wonder.  Sir,  that  he  is  vain;  a  man  who  is  perpetually 
flattered  in  every  mode  that  can  be  conceived.  So  many 
bellows  have  blown  the  fire,  that  one  wonders  he  is  not  by 
this  time  become  a  cinder.'  Boswell.  'And  such  bellows 
too.  Lord  Mansfield  with  his  cheeks  like  to  burst:  Lord 
Chatham  like  an  Jiolus.  I  have  read  such  notes  from  them 
to  him,  as  were  enough  to  turn  his  head.'  Johnson.  'True. 
When  he  whom  every  body  else  flatters,  flatters  me,  I  then 
am  truly  happy.'  Mrs.  Thrale.  'The  sentiment  is  in 
Congreve,  I  think.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Madam,  in  The  Waif 
of  the  World : 


208  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

"If  there's  delight  in  love,  'tis  when  I  see 
That  heart  which  others  bleed  for,  bleed  for  me." 

No,  Sir,  I  should  not  be  surprized  though  Garrick  chained 
the  ocean,  and  lashed  the  winds.'  Boswell.  'Should it 
not  be,  Sir,  lashed  the  ocean  and  chained  the  winds  ? '  John- 
son.    '  No,  Sir,  recollect  the  original : 

"  In  Corum  atque  Eumm  solihis  scevire  flagellis  '' 

Barbaras,  ^olio  nunquam  hoc  in  carcere  passos, 
Ipsum  compedibus  qui  vinxerat  Ennosigceum."  ' 

The  modes  of  living  in  different  countries,  and  the  various 
views  with  which  men  travel  in  quest  of  new  scenes,  having 
been  talked  of,  a  learned  gentleman  who  holds  a  considerable 
office  in  the  law,  expatiated  on  the  happiness  of  a  savage 
life;  and  mentioned  an  instance  of  an  officer  who  had  actu- 
ally lived  for  some  time  in  the  wilds  of  America,  of  whom, 
when  in  that  state,  he  quoted  this  reflection  with  an  air  of 
admiration,  as  if  it  had  been  deeply  philosophical:  'Here 
am  I,  free  and  unrestrained,  amidst  the  rude  magnificence  of 
Nature,  with  this  Indian  woman  by  my  side,  and  this  gun 
with  which  I  can  procure  food  when  I  want  it;  what  more 
can  be  desired  for  human  happiness?'  It  did  not  require 
much  sagacity  to  foresee  that  such  a  sentiment  would  not 
be  permitted  to  pass  without  due  animadversion.  Johnson. 
''Do  not  allow  yourself.  Sir,  to  be  imp)osed  upon  by  such 
gross  absurdity.  It  is  sad  stuff;  it  is  brutish.  If  a  bull 
could  speak,  he  might  as  well  exclaim, — Here  am  I  with  this 
cow  and  this  grass;   w^hat  being  can  enjoy  greater  felicity?' 

We  talked  of  the  melancholy  end  of  a  gentleman  who  had 
destroyed  himself.  Johnson.  '  It  was  owing  to  imaginary 
difficulties  in  his  affairs,  which,  had  he  talked  with  any  friend, 
would  soon  have  vanished.'  Boswell.  '  Do  you  think.  Sir, 
that  all  who  commit  suicide  are  mad?'  Johnson.  'Sir, 
they  are  often  not  universally  disordered  in  their  intellects, 
but  one  passion  presses  so  upon  them,  that  they  yield  to  it, 
and  commit  suicide,  as  a  passionate  man  will  stab  another.' 
He  added,  '  I  have  often  thought,  that  after  a  man  has  taken 
the  resolution  to  kill  himself,  it  is  not  courage  in  him  to  do 


1773)  SUICIDE  209 

any  thing,  however  desperate,  because  he  has  nothing  to 
fear.'  Goldsmith.  'I  don't  see  that.'  Johnson.  'Nay, 
but  my  dear  Sir,  why  should  not  you  see  what  every  one 
else  sees  ? '  Goldsmith.  '  It  is  for  fear  of  something  that  he 
has  resolved  to  kill  himself;  and  will  not  that  timid  disposi- 
tion restrain  him?'  Johnson.  'It  does  not  signify  that 
the  fear  of  something  made  him  resolve;  it  is  upon  the 
state  of  his  mind,  aft^r  the  resolution  is  taken,  that  I  argue. 
Suppose  a  man,  either  from  fear,  or  pride,  or  conscience,  or 
whatever  motive,  has  resolved  to  kill  himself;  when  once 
the  resolution  is  taken,  he  has  nothing  to  fear.  He  may- 
then  go  and  take  the  King  of  Prussia  by  the  nose,  at  the  head 
of  his  anny.  He  cannot  fear  the  rack,  who  is  resolved  to 
kill  himself.  When  Eustace  Budgel  was  walking  down  to- 
the  Thames,  determined  to  drown  himself,  he  might,  if  he 
pleased,  without  any  apprehension  of  danger,  have  turned 
aside,  and  first  set  fire  to  St.  James's  palace.' 

On  Tuesday,  April  27,  Mr.  Beauclerk  and  I  called  on  him. 
in  the  morning.  As  we  walked  up  Johnson '&-court,  I  said, 
'I  have  a  veneration  for  this  court;'  and  was  glad  to  find 
that  Beauclerk  had  the  same  reverential  enthusiasm.  We 
found  him  alone.  We  talked  of  Mr.  Andrew  Stuart's  elegant 
and  plausible  Letters  to  Lord  Mansfield:  a  copy  of  which, 
had  been  sent  by  the  authour  to  Dr.  Johnson.  Johnson. 
'They  have  not  answered  the  end.  They  have  not  been. 
talked  of;  I  have  never  heard  of  them.  This  is  owing  to 
their  not  being  sold.  People  seldom  read  a  book  which  is 
given  to  them;  and  few  are  given.  The  way  to  spread  & 
work  is  to  sell  it  at  a  low  price.  No  man  will  send  to  buy  & 
thing  that  costs  even  sixpence,  without  an  intention  to  read 
it.' 

He  said,  'Goldsmith  should  not  be  for  ever  attempting 
to  shine  in  conversation:  he  has  not  temper  for  it,  he  is  so 
much  mortified  when  he  fails.  Sir,  a  game  of  jokes  is  com- 
posed partly  of  skill,  partly  of  chance,  a  man  may  be  beat 
at  times  by  one  who  has  not  the  tenth  part  of  his  wit.  Now 
Goldsmith's  putting  himself  against  another,  is  like  a  man 
laying  a  hundred  to  one  who  cannot  spare  the  hundred.  It 
is  not  worth  a  man's  while.    A  man  should  not  lay  a  hun- 


210.  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

dred  to  one,  unless  he  can  easily  spare  it,  though  he  has  a 
hundred  chances  for  him:  he  can  get  but  a  guinea,  and  he 
may  lose  a  hundred.  Goldsmith  is  in  this  state.  When  he 
•contends,  if  he  gets  the  better,  it  is  a  very  little  addition  to 
&  man  of  his  literary  reputation:  if  he  does  not  get  the 
better,  he  is  miserably  vexed.' 

Johnson's  own  superlative  powers  of  wit  set  him  above 
any  risk  of  such  uneasiness.  Garrick  had  remarked  to  me 
of  him,  a  few  days  before,  'Rabelais  and  all  other  wits  are 
nothing  compared  with  him.  You  may  be  diverted  by 
them;  but  Johnson  gives  you  a  forcible  hug,  and  shakes 
laughter  out  of  you,  whether  you  will  or  no.' 

Goldsmith,  however,  was  often  very  fortunate  in  his  witty 
•contests,  even  when  he  entered  the  lists  with  Johnson  him- 
self. Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  was  in  company  with  them  one 
<iay,  when  Goldsmith  said,  that  he  thought  he  could  write 
a  good  fable,  mentioned  the  simplicity  which  that  kind  of 
•composition  requires,  and  observed,  that  in  most  fables  the 
.animals  introduced  seldom  talk  in  character.  '  For  instance, 
(said  he,)  the  fable  of  the  little  fishes,  who  saw  birds  fly  over 
their  heads,  and  envying  them,  petitioned  Jupiter  to  be 
•changed  into  birds.  The  skill  (continued  he,)  consists  in 
making  them  talk  like  little  fishes.'  While  he  indulged  him- 
self in  this  fanciful  reverie,  he  observed  Johnson  shaking  his 
sides,  and  laughing.  Upon  which  he  smartly  proceeded, 
'Why,  Dr.  Johnson,  this  is  not  so  easy  as  you  seem  to  think; 
ior  if  you  were  to  make  little  fishes  talk,  they  would  talk  like 

WHALES.' 

On  Thursday,  April  29,  I  dined  with  him  at  General  Ogle- 
thorpe's, where  were  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Mr.  Langton,  Dr. 
Goldsmith,  and  Mr.  Thrale.  I  was  very  desirous  to  get  Dr. 
Johnson  absolutely  fixed  in  his  resolution  to  go  with  me  to 
the  Hebrides  this  year;  and  I  told  him  that  I  had  received 
a  letter  from  Dr.  Robertson  the  historian,  upon  the  subject, 
with  which  he  was  much  pleased;  and  now  talked  in  such 
■&  manner  of  his  long-intended  tour,  that  I  was  satisfied  he 
meant  to  fulfil  ^is  engagement. 

The  character  of  Mallet  having  been  introduced,  and 
spoken  of  slightingly  by  Goldsmith;  Johnson.     'Why,  Sir, 


17731  PLAYWRIGHTS  AND  PLAYERS  211 

Mallet  had  talents  enough  to  keep  his  literary  reputation 
alive  as  long  as  he  himself  lived;  and  that,  let  me  tell  you, 
is  a  good  deal.'  Goldsmith.  'But  I  cannot  agree  that  it 
was  so.  His  literary  reputation  was  dead  long  before  his 
natural  death.  I  consider  an  authour's  literary  reputation 
to  be  alive  only  while  his  name  will  ensure  a  good  price  for 
his  copy  from  the  booksellers.  I  will  get  you  (to  Johnson,) 
a  hundred  guineas  for  any  thing  whatever  that  you  shall 
write,  if  you  put  your  name  to  it.' 

Dr.  Goldsmith's  new  play,  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  being 
mentioned;  Johnson.  'I  know  of  no  comedy  for  many 
years  that  has  so  much  exhilarated  an  audience,  that  has 
answered  so  much  the  great  end  of  comedy — making  an 
audience  merry.' 

Goldsmith  having  said,  that  Garrick's  compliment  to  the 
Queen,  which  he  introduced  into  the  play  of  The  Chances, 
which  he  had  altered  and  revised  this  year,  was  mean  and 
gross  flattery;  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  I  would  not  write,  I 
would  not  give  solemnly  under  my  hand,  a  character  beyond 
what  I  thought  really  true;  but  a  speech  on  the  stage,  let 
it  flatter  ever  so  extravagantly,  is  formular.  It  has  always 
been  formular  to  flatter  Bongs  and  Queens;  so  much  so, 
that  even  in  our  church-ser\'ice  we  have  "our  most  religious 
Kling,"  used  indiscriminately,  whoever  is  King.  Nay,  they 
even  flatter  themselves; — "we  have  been  graciously  pleased 
to  grant."  No  modern  flattery,  however,  is  so  gross  as  that 
of  the  Augustan  age,  where  the  Emperour  was  deified. 
"Prcesens  Divus  habeintur  Augustus."  And  as  to  meanness, 
(rising  into  warmth,)  how  is  it  mean  in  a  player, — a  show- 
man,— a  fellow  who  exhibits  himself  for  a  shilling,  to  flatter 
his  Queen?  The  attempt,  indeed,  was  dangerous;  for  if  it 
had  missed,  what  became  of  Garrick,  and  what  became  of 
the  Queen?  As  Sir  William  Temple  says  of  a  great  General, 
it  is  necessary  not  only  that  his  designs  be  formed  in  a  mas- 
terly manner,  but  that  they  should  be  attended  with  success. 
Sir,  it  is  right,  at  a  time  when  the  Royal  Family  is  not  gen- 
erally Uked,  to  let  it  be  seen  that  the  people  like  at  least 
one  of  them.'  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  'I  do  not  perceive 
why  the  profession  of  a  player  should  be  despised;   for  the 


212  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

great  and  ultimate  end  of  all  the  employments  of  mankind 
is  to  produce  amusement.  Garrick  produces  more  amuse- 
ment than  any  body.'  Boswell.  'You  say,  Dr.  Johnson, 
that  Garrick  exhibits  himself  for  a  shilling.  In  this  respect 
he  is  only  on  a  footing  with  a  lawyer  who  exhibits  himself 
for  his  fee,  and  even  will  maintain  any  nonsense  or  absurdity, 
if  the  case  requires  it.  Garrick  refuses  a  play  or  a  part 
which  he  does  not  like;  a  lawyer  never  refuses.'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  what  does  this  prove?  only  that  a  lawyer  is  worse. 
Boswell  is  now  like  Jack  in  The  Tale  of  a  Tvh,  who,  when  he 
is  puzzled  by  an  argument,  hangs  himself.  He  thinks  I 
shall  cut  him  down,  but  I'll  let  him  hang.'  (laughing  vocifer- 
ously.) Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  'Mr.  Boswell  thinks  that 
the  profession  of  a  lawyer  being  unquestionably  honourable, 
if  he  can  show  the  profession  of  a  player  to  be  more  honour- 
able, he  proves  his  argument.' 

On  Friday,  April  30,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Beauclerk's, 
where  were  Lord  Charlemont,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and 
some  more  members  of  the  Literary  Club,  whom  he  had 
obligingly  invited  to  meet  me,  as  I  was  this  evening  to  be 
balloted  for  as  candidate  for  admission  into  that  distin- 
guished society.  Johnson  had  done  me  the  honour  to  pro- 
pose me,  and  Beauclerk  was  very  zealous  for  me. 

Goldsmith  being  mentioned;  Johnson.  '  It  is  amazing  how 
little  Goldsmith  knows.  He  seldom  comes  where  he  is  not 
more  ignorant  than  any  one  else.'  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
'Yet  there  is  no  man  whose  company  is  more  liked.'  John- 
son. 'To  be  sure.  Sir.  When  people  find  a  man  of  the 
most  distinguished  abilities  as  a  writer,  their  inferiour  while 
he  is  with  them,  it  must  be  highly  gratifying  to  them.  What 
Goldsmith  comically  says  of  himself  is  very  true, — he  always 
gets  the  better  when  he  argues  alone;  meaning,  that  he  is 
master  of  a  subject  in  his  study,  and  can  write  well  upon  it; 
but  when  he  comes  into  company,  grows  confused,  and  un- 
able to  talk.  Take  him  as  a  poet,  his  Traveller  is  a  very  fine 
performance;  ay,  and  so  is  his  Deserted  Village,  were  it  not 
sometimes  too  much  the  echo  of  his  Traveller.  Whether, 
indeed,  we  take  him  as  a  poet, — as  a  comick  writer, — or  as 
an  historian,  he  stands  in  the  first  class.'    Boswell.     'An 


1773)  GOLDSMITH  AS  HISTORIAN  213 

historian !  My  dear  Sir,  you  surely  will  not  rank  his  com- 
pilation of  the  Roman  History  with  the  works  of  other  his- 
torians of  this  age  ? '  Johnson.  'Why,  who  are  before  him?' 
BoswELL.  'Hume, — Roljertson, — Lord  Lyttelton,'  John- 
son (his  antipathy  to  the  Scotch  beginning  to  rise).  'I  have 
not  read  Hume;  but,  doubtless,  Goldsmith's  History  Is  better 
than  the  verbiage  of  Robertson,  or  the  foppery  of  Dalrymple.' 
BoswELL.  'Will  you  not  admit  the  superiority  of  Robert- 
son, in  whose  History  we  find  such  penetration — such  paint- 
ing?' Johnson.  'Sir,  you  must  consider  how  that  pene- 
tration and  that  painting  are  employed.  It  is  not  history, 
it  is  imagination.  He  who  describes  what  he  never  saw, 
draws  from  fancy.  Robertson  paints  minds  as  Sir  Joshua 
paints  faces  in  a  history-piece:  he  imagines  an  heroic  coun- 
tenance. You  must  look  upon  Robertson's  work  as  romance, 
and  try  it  by  that  standard.  History^  it  is  not.  Besides,  Sir, 
it  Is  the  great  excellence  of  a  writer  to  put  into  his  book  as 
much  as  his  book  will  hold;  Goldsmith  has  done  this  in  his 
History.  Now  Robertson  might  have  put  twice  as  much  into 
his  book.  Robertson  is  like  a  man  who  has  packed  gold  in 
wool:  the  wool  takes  up  more  room  than  the  gold.  No, 
Sir;  I  always  thought  Robertson  would  be  crushed  by  his 
own  weight, — would  be  buried  under  his  own  ornaments. 
Goldsmith  tells  you  shortly  all  you  want  to  know:  Robert- 
son detains  you  a  great  deal  too  long.  No  man  will  read 
Robertson's  cumbrous  detail  a  second  time;  but  Goldsmith's 
plain  narrative  will  please  again  and  again.  I  would  say  to 
Robertson  what  an  old  tutor  of  a  college  said  to  one  of  his 
pupils:  "Read  over  your  compositions,  and  where  ever  you 
meet  with  a  passage  which  you  think  is  particularly  fine, 
strike  it  out."  Goldsmith's  abridgement  is  better  than  that 
of  Lucius  Florus  or  Eutropius;  and  I  will  venture  to  say, 
that  if  you  compare  him  with  Vertot,  in  the  same  places 
of  the  Roman  History,  you  will  find  that  he  excels  Vertot. 
Sir,  he  has  the  art  of  compiling,  and  of  saying  every  thing 
he  has  to  say  in  a  pleasing  manner.  He  is  now  writing  a 
Natural  History  and  will  make  it  as  entertaining  as  a  Persian 
Tale.' 
I  cannot  dismiss  the  present  topick  without  observing, 


214  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

that  it  is  probable  that  Dr.  Johnson,  who  owned  that  he  often 
'talked  for  victory,'  rather  urged  plausible  objections  to  Dr. 
Robertson's  excellent  historical  works,  in  the  ardour  of  con- 
test, than  expressed  his  real  and  decided  opinion;  for  it  is 
not  easy  to  suppose,  that  he  should  so  widely  differ  from 
the  rest  of  the  literary  world. 

Johnson.  'I  remember  once  being  with  Goldsmith  in 
Westminster-abbey.  While  we  surveyed  the  Poets'  Corner, 
I  said  to  him, 

"ForsUan  et  nostrum  nomen  miscebitur  istis. " 

when  we  got  to  Temple-bar  he  stopped  me,  pointed  to  the 
heads  upon  it,  and  slily  whisp>ered  me, 

"ForsUan  et  nostrum  nomen  miscebiiur  isns.*  "' 

Johnson  praised  John  Bunyan  highly.  'His  Pilgrim's 
Progress  has  great  merit,  both  for  invention,  imagination, 
and  the  conduct  of  the  story;  and  it  has  had  the  best  evi- 
dence of  its  merit,  the  general  and  continued  approbation  of 
mankind.  Few  books,  I  believe,  have  had  a  more  extensive 
sale.  It  is  remarkable,  that  it  begins  very  much  like  the 
poem  of  Dante;  yet  there  was  no  translation  of  Dante  when 
Bunyan  wrote.  There  is  reason  to  think  that  he  had  read 
Spenser.' 

A  proposition  which  had  been  agitated,  that  monimients 
to  eminent  persons  should,  for  the  time  to  come,  be  erected 
in  St.  Paul's  church  as  well  as  in  Westminster-abbey,  was 
mentioned;  and  it  was  asked,  who  should  be  honoured  by 
having  his  monument  first  erected  there.  Somebody  sug- 
gested Pope.  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  as  Pope  was  a  Roman 
Catholick,  I  would  not  have  his  to  be  first.  I  think  Milton's 
rather  should  have  the  precedence.  I  think  more  highly 
of  him  now  than  I  did  at  twenty.  There  is  more  thinking 
in  him  and  in  Butler,  than  in  any  of  our  pjoets.' 

The  gentlemen  went  away  to  their  club,  and  I  was  left 

1  In  allusion  to  Dr.  Johnson's  supposed  political  principles,  and  per- 
haps his  own. — B08WELL. 


1773]    BOSWELL'S  ELECTION  TO  THE  CLUB      215 

at  Beauclerk's  till  the  fate  of  my  election  should  be  an- 
nounced to  me.  I  sat  in  a  state  of  anxiety  which  even  the 
charming  conversation  of  Lady  Di  Beauclerk  could  not 
entirely  dissipate..  In  a  short  time  I  received  the  agreeable 
intelUgence  that  I  was  chosen.  I  hastened  to  the  place  of 
meeting,  and  was  introduced  to  such  a  society  as  can  seldom 
be  found.  Mr.  Edmund  Burke,  whom  I  then  saw  for  the 
first  time,  and  whose  splendid  talents  had  long  made  me 
ardently  wish  for  his  acquaintance;  Dr.  Nugent,  Mr.  Gar- 
rick,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  Mr.  (afterwards  Sir  William)  Jones, 
and  the  company  with  whom  I  had  dined.  Upon  my  en- 
trance, Johnson  placed  himself  behind  a  chair,  on  which  he 
leaned  as  on  a  desk  or  pulpit,  and  with  humorous  formality 
gave  me  a  Charge,  pointing  out  the  conduct  expected  from 
me  as  a  good  member  of  this  club. 

Goldsmith  produced  some  very  absurd  verses  which  had 
been  publickly  recited  to  an  audience  for  money.  Johnson. 
*I  can  match  this  nonsense.  There  was  a  poem  called 
Eugenio,  which  came  out  some  years  ago,  and  concludes  thus: 

"And  now,  ye  trifling,  self-assuming  elves, 
Brimful  of  pride,  of  nothing,  of  yourselves, 
Survey  Eugenio,  view  him  o'er  and  o'er, 
Then  sink  into  yourselves,  and  be  no  more." 

Nay,  Dryden  in  his  poem  on  the  Royal  Society,  has  these 
lines: 

"Then  we  upon  our  globe's  last  verge  shall  go, 
And  see  the  ocean  leaning  on  the  sky; 
From  thence  our  rolling  neighbours  we  shall  know. 
And  on  the  lunar  world  securely  pry."' 

Much  pleasant  conversation  passed,  which  Johnson  rel- 
ished with  great  good  humour.  But  his  conversation  alone, 
or  what  led  to  it,  or  was  interwoven  with  it,  is  the  business 
of  this  work. 

On  Saturday,  May  1,  we  dined  by  ourselves  at  our  old 
rendezvous,  the  Mitre  tavern.  He  was  placid,  but  not  much 
disposed  to  talk.     He  observed  that  'The  Irish  mix  better 


216  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

with  the  English  than  the  Scotch  do;  their  language  is  nearer 
to  English;  as  a  proof  of  which,  they  succeed  very  well  as 
players,  which  Scotchmen  do  not.  Then,  Sir,  they  have  not 
that  extreme  nationality  which  we  find  in  the  Scotch.  I 
will  do  you,  Boswell,  the  justice  to  say,  that  you  are  the  most 
unscottified  of  your  countrymen.  You  are  almost  the  only 
instance  of  a  Scotchman  that  I  have  known,  who  did  not  at 
every  other  sentence  bring  in  some  other  Scotchman.' 

On  Friday,  May  7,  I  breakfasted  with  him  at  Mr.  Thrale's 
in  the  Borough.  While  we  were  alone,  I  endeavoured  as 
well  as  I  could  to  apologise  for  a  lady  who  had  been  divorced 
from  her  husband  by  act  of  ParUament.  I  said,  that  he 
had  used  her  very  ill,  had  behaved  brutally  to  her,  and  that 
she  could  not  continue  to  live  with  him  without  having  her 
delicacy  contaminated;  that  all  affection  for  him  was  thus 
destroyed;  that  the  essence  of  conjugal  union  being  gone, 
there  remained  only  a  cold  form,  a  mere  civil  obUgation; 
that  she  was  in  the  prime  of  life,  ^ith  qualities  to  produce 
happiness;  that  these  ought  not  to  be  lost;  and,  that  the 
gentleman  on  whose  account  she  was  divorced  had  gained 
her  heart  while  thus  unhappily  situated.  Seduced,  perhaps, 
by  the  charms  of  the  lady  in  question,  I  thus  attempted 
to  palliate  what  I  was  sensible  could  not  be  justified;  for 
when  I  had  finished  my  harangue,  my  venerable  friend  gave 
me  a  proper  check:  'My  dear  Sir,  never  accustom  your 
mind  to  mingle  virtue  and  vice.  The  woman's  a  whore, 
and  there's  an  end  on't.' 

He  described  the  father  of  one  of  his  friends  thus :  '  Sir, 
he  was  so  exuberant  a  talker  at  publick  meeting,  that  the 
gentlemen  of  his  county  were  afraid  of  him.  No  business 
could  be  done  for  his  declamation.' 

He  did  not  give  me  full  credit  when  I  mentioned  that  I 
had  carried  on  a  short  conversation  by  signs  with  some 
Esquimaux  who  were  then  in  London,  particularly  with  one 
of  them  who  was  a  priest.  He  thought  I  could  not  make 
them  understand  me.  No  man  was  more  incredulous  as  to 
particular  facts,  which  were  at  all  extraordinary;  and  there- 
fore no  man  was  more  scrupulously  inquisitive,  in  order  to 
discover  the  truth. 


1773]         DINNER  AT  MESSIEURS  DILLY'S  217 

I  dined  with  him  this  day  at  the  house  of  my  friends. 
Messieurs  Edward  and  Charles  Dilly,  booksellers  in  the 
Poultry:  there  were  present,  their  elder  brother  Mr.  Dilly 
of  Bedfordshire,  Dr.  Cioldsmith,  Mr.  Langton,  Mr.  Claxton, 
Reverend  Dr.  Mayo  a  dissenting  minister,  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Toplady,  and  my  friend  the  Reverend  Mr.  Temple. 

BoswELL.  '  I  am  well  assured  that  the  people  of  Otaheite 
who  have  the  bread  tree,  the  fruit  of  which  serves  them  for 
bread,  laughed  heartily  when  they  were  informed  of  the 
tedious  process  necessary  with  us  to  have  bread ;  — plowing, 
sowing,  harrowing,  reaping,  threshing,  grinding,  baking.' 
Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  all  ignorant  savages  will  laugh  when 
they  are  told  of  the  advantages  of  civilized  life.  Were  you 
to  tell  men  who  live  without  houses,  how  we  pile  brick  upon 
brick,  and  rafter  upon  rafter,  and  that  after  a  house  is  raised 
to  a  certain  height,  a  man  tumbles  off  a  scaffold,  and  breaks 
his  neck;  he  would  laugh  heartily  at  our  folly  in  building; 
but  it  does  not  follow  that  men  are  better  without  houses. 
No,  Sir,  (holding  up  a  slice  of  a  good  loaf,)  this  is  better  than 
the  bread  tree.' 

I  introduced  the  subject  of  toleration.  Johnson.  'Every 
society  has  a  right  to  preserve  publick  peace  and  order,  and 
therefore  has  a  good  right  to  prohibit  the  propagation  of 
opinions  which  have  a  dangerous  tendency.  To  say  the 
magistrate  has  this  right,  is  using  an  inadequate  word:  it  is 
the  society  for  which  the  magistrate  is  agent.  He  may  be 
morally  or  theologically  wrong  in  restraining  the  propaga- 
tion of  opinions  which  he  thinks  dangerous,  but  he  is  politi- 
cally right.'  Mayo.  'I  am  of  opinion,  Sir,  that  every  man 
is  entitled  to  liberty  of  conscience  in  religion;  and  that  the 
magistrate  cannot  restrain  that  right.'  Johnson.  'Sir, 
I  agree  with  you.  Every  man  has  a  right  to  liberty  of  con- 
science, and  with  that  the  magistrate  cannot  interfere. 
People  confound  liberty  of  thinking  with  liberty  of  talking; 
nay,  with  liberty  of  preaching.  Every  man  has  a  physical 
right  to  think  as  he  pleases;  for  it  cannot  be  discovered  how 
he  thinks.  He  has  not  a  moral  right,  for  he  ought  to  inform 
himself,  and  think  justly.  But,  Sir,  no  member  of  a  society 
has  a  right  to  teach  any  doctrine  contrary  to  what  the  society 


218  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

holds  to  be  true.  The  magistrate,  I  say,  may  be  wrong  in 
what  he  thinks:  but  while  he  thinks  himself  right,  he  may 
and  ought  to  enforce  what  he  thinks.'  Mayo.  'Then,  Sir, 
we  are  to  remain  always  in  errour,  and  truth  never  can  pre- 
vail; and  the  magistrate  was  right  in  persecuting  the  first 
Christians.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  the  only  method  by  which  re- 
ligious truth  can  be  established  is  by  martyrdom.  The 
magistrate  has  a  right  to  enforce  what  he  thinks;  and  he 
who  is  conscious  of  the  truth  has  a  right  to  suffer.  I  am 
afraid  there  is  no  other  way  of  ascertaining  the  truth,  but  by 
persecution  on  the  one  hand  and  enduring  it  on  the  other.' 
Goldsmith.  '  But  how  is  a  man  to  act.  Sir  ?  Though  firmly 
convinced  of  the  truth  of  his  doctrine,  ma}^  he  not  think  it 
wrong  to  expose  himself  to  persecution?  Has  he  a  right  to 
do  so?  Is  it  not,  as  it  were,  committing  voluntary  suicide?' 
Johnson.  'Sir,  as  to  voluntary  suicide,  as  you  call  it,  there 
are  twenty  thousand  men  in  an  army  who  will  go  without 
scruple  to  be  shot  at,  and  mount  a  breach  for  five-pence  a 
day.'  Goldsmith.  'But  have  they  a  moral  right  to  do 
this?'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  if  you  will  not  take  the  uni- 
versal opinion  of  mankind,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  If  mankind 
cannot  defend  their  own  way  of  thinking,  I  cannot  defend 
it.  Sir,  if  a  man  is  in  doubt  whether  it  would  be  better  for 
him  to  expose  himself  to  martyrdom  or  not,  he  should  not 
do  it.  He  must  be  convinced  that  he  has  a  delegation  from 
heaven.'  Goldsmith.  'I  would  consider  whether  there  is 
the  greater  chance  of  good  or  evil  upon  the  whole.  If  I  see 
a  man  who  had  fallen  into  a  well,  I  would  wish  to  help  him 
out;  but  if  there  is  a  greater  probability  that  he  shall  pull 
me  in,  than  that  I  shall  pull  him  out,  I  would  not  attempt 
it.  So  were  I  to  go  to  Turkey,  I  might  wish  to  convert  the 
Grand  Signor  to  the  Christian  faith;  but  when  I  considered 
that  I  should  probably  be  put  to  death  without  effectuating 
my  purpose  in  any  degree,  I  should  keep  myself  quiet.' 
Johnson.  'Sir,  you  must  consider  that  we  have  perfect  and 
imperfect  obligations.  Perfect  obligations,  which  are  gen- 
erally not  to  do  something,  are  clear  and  positive;  as,  "thou 
shalt  not  kill."  But  charity,  for  instance,  is  not  definable 
by  limits.     It  is  a  duty  to  give  to  the  poor;  but  no  man  can 


1773]         A  DISCUSSION  OF  TOLERATION  219 

say  how  much  another  should  give  to  the  poor,  or  when  a 
man  has  given  too  little  to  save  his  soul.  In  the  same  man- 
ner it  is  a  duty  to  instruct  the  ignorant,  and  of  consequence 
to  convert  infidels  to  ChrLstianity ;  but  no  man  in  the  com- 
mon course  of  things  is  obliged  to  carry  this  to  such  a  degree 
as  to  incur  the  danger  of  martyrdom,  as  no  man  is  obliged 
to  strip  himself  to  the  shirt  in  order  to  give  charity.  I  have 
said,  that  a  man  must  be  persuaded  that  he  has  a  particular 
delegation  from  heaven.'  Goldsmith.  'How  is  this  to  be 
known?  Our  first  reformers,  who  were  burnt  for  not  be- 
Ueving  bread  and  wine  to  be  Christ  ' — Johnson,  (interrupting 
him,)  'Sir,  they  were  not  burnt  for  not  believing  bread  and 
wine  to  be  Christ,  but  for  insulting  those  who  did  believe  it. 
And,  Sir,  when  the  first  reformers  began,  they  did  not  in- 
tend to  be  martyred:  as  many  of  them  ran  away  as  could.' 
BoswELL.  'But,  Sir,  there  was  your  countrj'man,  Elwal, 
who  you  told  me  challenged  King  George  with  his  black- 
guards, and  his  red-guards.'  Johnson.  'My  countryman, 
Elwal,  Sir,  should  have  been  put  in  the  stocks;  a  proper 
pulpit  for  him;  and  he'd  have  had  a  numerous  audience. 
A  man  who  preaches  in  the  stocks  will  always  have  hearers 
enough.'  Boswell.  'But  Elwal  thought  himself  in  the 
right.'  Johnson.  'We  are  not  providing  for  mad  people; 
there  are  places  for  them  m  the  neighbourhood.'  (meaning 
Moorfields.)  Mayo.  'But,  Sir,  is  it  not  very  hard  that  I 
should  not  be  allowed  to  teach  my  children  what  I  really 
believe  to  be  the  truth?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  j'ou  might 
contrive  to  teach  your  children  extrd  scandalum;  but.  Sir, 
the  magistrate,  if  he  knows  it,  has  a  right  to  restrain  you. 
Suppose  you  teach  your  children  to  be  thieves?'  Mayo. 
'This  is  making  a  joke  of  the  subject.'  Johnson.  'Nay, 
Sir,  take  it  thus: — that  you  teach  them  the  community  of 
goods;  for  which  there  are  as  many  plausible  arguments 
as  for  mast  erroneous  doctrines.  You  teach  them  that 
all  things  at  first  were  in  common,  and  that  no  man  had  a 
right  to  any  thing  but  as  he  laid  his  hands  upon  it ;  and  that 
this  still  is,  or  ought  to  be,  the  rule  amongst  mankind. 
Here,  Sir,  you  sap  a  great  principle  in  society, — property. 
And  don't  you  think  the  magistrate  would  have  a  right  to 


220  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

prevent  you?  Or,  suppose  you  should  teach  your  children 
the  notion  of  the  Adamites,  and  they  should  run  naked  into 
the  streets,  would  not  the  magistrate  have  a  right  to  flog 
'em  into  their  doublets?'  Mayo.  'I  think  the  magistrate 
has  no  right  to  interfere  till  there  is  some  overt  act.'  Bos- 
well.  '  So,  Sir,  though  he  sees  an  enemy  to  the  state  charg- 
ing a  blunderbuss,  he  is  not  to  interfere  till  it  is  fired  off?' 
Mayo.  'He  must  be  sure  of  its  direction  against  the  state.' 
Johnson.  'The  magistrate  is  to  judge  of  that. — He  has  no 
right  to  restrain  your  thinking,  because  the  evil  centers  in 
yourself.  If  a  man  were  sitting  at  this  table,  and  chopping 
off  his  fingers,  the  magistrate,  as  guardian  of  the  community, 
has  no  authority  to  restrain  him,  however  he  might  do  it 
from  kindness  as  a  parent. — Though,  indeed,  upon  more  con- 
sideration, I  think  he  may;  as  it  is  probable,  that  he  who  is 
chopping  off  his  own  fingers,  may  soon  proceed  to  chop  off 
those  of  other  people.  If  I  think  it  right  to  steal  Mr.  Dilly's 
plate,  I  am  a  bad  man;  but  he  can  say  nothing  to  me.  If  I 
make  an  open  declaration  that  I  think  so,  he  will  keep  me 
out  of  his  house.  If  I  put  forth  my  hand,  I  shall  be  sent  to 
Newgate.  This  is  the  gradation  of  thinking,  preaching,  and 
acting:  if  a  man  thinks  erroneously,  he  may  keep  his  thoughts 
to  himself,  and  nobody  will  trouble  him;  if  he  preaches 
erroneous  doctrine,  society  may  expel  him;  if  he  acts  in  con- 
sequence of  it,  the  law  takes  place,  and  he  is  hanged.'  Mayo. 
'But,  Sir,  ought  not  Christians  to  have  liberty  of  conscience?* 
Johnson.  'I  have  already  told  you  so.  Sir.  You  are 
coming  back  to  where  you  were.'  Boswell.  'Dr.  Mayo 
is  always  taking  a  return  post-chaise,  and  going  the  stage 
over  again.  He  has  it  at  half  price.'  Johnson.  'Dr. 
Mayo,  like  other  champions  for  unlimited  toleration,  has 
got  a  set  of  words.  Sir,  it  is  no  matter,  politically,  whether 
the  magistrate  be  right  or  wrong.  Suppose  a  club  were  to 
be  formed,  to  drink  confusion  to  King  George  the  Third, 
and  a  happy  restoration  to  Charles  the  Third,  this  would  be 
very  bad  with  respect  to  the  State;  but  every  member  of 
that  club  must  either  conform  to  its  rules,  or  be  turned  out 
of  it.  Old  Baxter,  I  remember,  maintains,  that  the  magis- 
trate should  "tolerate  all  things  that  are  tolerable."    This  is 


1773]  GOLDSMITH'S  WISH  TO  SHINE  221 

no  good  definition  of  toleration  upon  any  principle;  but  it 
shews  that  he  thought  some  things  were  not  tolerable/ 
ToPLADY.  'Sir,  you  have  untwisted  this  difficult  subject 
with  great  dexterity.' 

During  this  argument,  Goldsmith  sat  in  restless  agitation, 
from  a  wish  to  get  in  and  shine.  Finding  himself  excluded^ 
he  had  taken  his  hat  to  go  away,  but  remained  for  some  time 
with  it  in  his  hand,  like  a  gamester,  who  at  the  close  of  a 
long  night,  lingers  for  a  little  while,  to  see  if  he  can  have  a 
favourable  opening  to  finish  with  success.  Once  when  he 
was  beginning  to  speak,  he  found  himself  overpowered  by 
the  loud  voice  of  Johnson,  who  was  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
table,  and  did  not  perceive  Goldsmith's  attempt.  Thus  dis- 
appointed of  his  wish  to  obtain  the  attention  of  the  com- 
pany, Goldsmith  in  a  passion  threw  down  his  hat,  looking 
angrily  at  Johnson,  and  exclaiming  in  a  bitter  tone,  'Take 
it.'  When  Toplady  was  going  to  speak,  Johnson  uttered 
some  sound,  which  led  Goldsmith  to  think  that  he  was  be- 
ginning again,  and  taking  the  words  from  Toplady.  Upon 
which,  he  seized  this  opportunity  of  venting  his  own  envy 
and  spleen,  under  the  pretext  of  supporting  a»other  person: 
'Sir,  (said  he  to  Johnson,)  the  gentleman  has  heard  you 
patiently  for  an  hour ;  pray  allow  us  now  to  hear  him . '  John- 
son, (sternly,)  'Sir,  I  was  not  interrupting  the  gentleman. 
I  was  only  giving  him  a  signal  of  my  attention.  Sir,  you  are 
impertinent.'  Goldsmith  made  no  reply,  but  continued  in 
the  company  for  some  time. 

A  gentleman  present  ventured  to  ask  Dr.  Johnson  if  there 
was  not  a  material  difference  as  to  toleration  of  opinions 
which  lead  to  action,  and  opinions  merely  speculative;  for 
instance,  would  it  be  wrong  in  the  magistrate  to  tolerate 
those  who  preach  against  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity? 
Johnson  was  highly  offended,  and  said,  'I  wonder,  Sir,  how 
a  gentleman  of  your  piety  can  introduce  this  subject  in  a 
mixed  company.'  He  told  me  afterwards,  that  the  impro- 
priety was,  that  perhaps  some  of  the  company  might  have 
talked  on  the  subject  in  such  terms  as  might  have  shocked 
him;  or  he  might  have  been  forced  to  appear  in  their  eyes 
a  narrow-minded  man.    The  gentleman,   with  submissive 


222  LIFE   OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

deference,  said,  he  had  only  hinted  at  the  question  from  a 
desire  to  hear  Dr.  Johnson's  opinion  upon  it.  Johnson. 
'Why  then,  Sir,  I  think  that  permitting  men  to  preach  any 
opinion  contrary  to  the  doctrine  of  the  established  church 
tends,  in  a  certain  degree,  to  lessen  the  authority  of  the 
church,  and  consequently,  to  lessen  the  influence  of  religion.' 
'It  may  be  considered,  (said  the  gentleman,)  whether  it 
would  not  be  politick  to  tolerate  in  such  a  case.'  Johnson. 
'Sir,  we  have  been  talking  of  right:  this  is  another  question. 
I  think  it  is  not  poUtick  to  tolerate  in  such  a  case.' 

BoswELL.  'Pray,  Mr.  Dilly,  how  does  Dr.  Leland's  His- 
tory of  Ireland  sell? '  Johnson,  (bursting  forth  with  a  gener- 
ous indignation,)  'The  Irish  are  in  a  most  unnatural  state; 
for  we  see  there  the  minority  prevailing  over  the  majority. 
There  is  no  instance,  even  in  the  ten  persecutions,  of  such 
severity  as  that  which  the  protestants  of  Ireland  have  exer- 
cised against  the  Catholicks.  Did  we  tell  them  we  have  con- 
quered them,  it  would  be  above  board:  to  punish  them  by 
confiscation  and  other  penalties,  as  rebels,  was  monstrous 
injustice.  King  William  was  not  their  lawful  sovereign:  he 
had  not  been  acknowledged  by  the  ParUament  of  Ireland, 
when  they  appeared  in  arms  against  him.' 

He  and  Mr.  Langton  and  I  went  together  to  the  club, 
where  we  found  Mr.  Burke,  JMr.  Garrick,  and  some  other 
members,  and  amongst  them  our  friend  Goldsmith,  who  sat 
silently  brooding  over  Johnson's  reprimand  to  him  after 
dinner.  Johnson  perceived  this,  and  said  aside  to  some  of 
us,  'I'll  make  Goldsmith  forgive  me;'  and  then  called  to  him 
in  a  loud  voice,  'Dr.  Goldsmith, — something  passed  to-day 
where  you  and  I  dined;  I  ask  your  pardon.'  Goldsmith 
answered  placidly,  'It  must  be  much  from  you.  Sir,  that 
I  take  ill.'  And  so  at  once  the  difference  was  over,  and 
they  were  on  as  easy  terms  as  ever,  and  Goldsmith  rattled 
away  as  usual. 

In  our  way  to  the  club  to-night,  when  I  regretted  that 
Goldsmith  would,  upon  every  occasion,  endeavour  to  shine, 
by  which  he  often  exposed  himself,  Mr.  Langton  observed, 
that  he  was  not  like  Addison,  who  was  content  with  the 
fame  of  his  writings,  and  did  not  aim  also  at  excellency  in 


1773]  GOLDSMITH'S  VANITY  223 

conversation,  for  which  he  found  himself  unfit;  and  that  he 
said  to  a  lady  who  complained  of  his  having  talked  little  in 
company,  'Madam,  I  have  but  ninepence  in  ready  money, 
but  I  can  draw  for  a  thousand  pounds.'  I  observed,  that 
Goldsmith  had  a  great  deal  of  gold  in  his  cabinet,  but,  not 
content  with  that,  was  always  taking  out  his  purse.  John- 
son.    'Yes,  Sir,  and  that  so  often  an  empty  purse!' 

Goldsmith's  incessant  desire  of  being  conspicuous  in  com- 
pany, was  the  occasion  of  his  sometimes  app)earing  to  such 
disadvantage  as  one  should  hardly  have  supposed  possible 
in  a  man  of  his  genius.  When  his  literary  reputation  had 
risen  deservedly  high,  and  his  society  was  much  courted,  he 
became  very  jealous  of  the  extraordinary  attention  which 
was  every  where  paid  to  Johnson.  One  evening,  in  a  circle 
of  wits,  he  found  fault  with  me  for  talking  of  Johnson  as 
entitled  to  the  honour  of  unquestionable  superiority.  'Sir, 
(said  he,)  you  are  for  making  a  monarchy  of  what  should  be 
a  republick.' 

He  was  still  more  mortified,  when  talking  in  a  company 
with  fluent  vivacity,  and,  as  he  flattered  himself,  to  the 
admiration  of  all  who  were  present;  a  German  who  sat  next 
him,  and  perceived  Johnson  rolling  himself,  as  if  about  to 
speak,  suddenly  stopped  him,  saying,  'Stay,  stay, — Toctor 
Shonson  is  going  to  say  something.'  This  was,  no  doubt, 
very  provoking,  especially  to  one  so  irritable  as  Goldsmith, 
who  frequently  mentioned  it  with  strong  expressions  of 
indignation. 

It  may  also  be  observ^ed,  that  Goldsmith  was  sometimes 
content  to  be  treated  with  an  easy  familiarity,  but,  upon 
occasions,  would  be  consequential  and  important.  An  in- 
stance of  this  occurred  in  a  small  particular.  Johnson  had 
a  way  of  contracting  the  names  of  his  friends;  as  Beauclerk, 
Beau;  Boswell,  Bozzy;  Langton,  Lanky;  Murphy,  Mur; 
Sheridan,  Sherry.  I  remember  one  day,  when  Tom  Da  vies 
was  teUing  that  Dr.  Johnson  said,  'We  are  all  in  labour  for 
a  name  to  Goldy's  play,'  Goldsmith  seemed  displeased  that 
such  a  liberty  should  be  taken  with  his  name,  and  said,  'I 
have  often  desired  him  not  to  call  me  Goldy.'  Tom  was  re- 
markably attentive  to  the  most  minute  circumstance  about 


224  LIFE  OF   DR.   JOHNSON  [i77s 

Johnson.  I  recollect  his  telling  me  once,  on  my  arrival  ia 
London,  'Sir,  our  great  friend  has  made  an  improvement  on 
his  appellation  of  old  Mr.  Sheridan.  He  calls  him  now 
Sherry  derry.' 

On  Monday,  May  9,  as  I  was  to  set  out  on  my  return  to 
Scotland  next  morning,  I  was  desirous  to  see  as  much  of  Dr. 
Johnson  as  I  could.  But  I  first  called  on  Goldsmith  to  take 
leave  of  him.  The  jealousy  and  envy  which,  though  pos- 
sessed of  many  most  amiable  qualities,  he  frankly  avowed, 
broke  out  violently  at  this  interview.  Upon  another  occa- 
sion, when  Goldsmith  confessed  himself  to  be  of  an  envious 
disposition,  I  contended  with  Johnson  that  we  ought  not  to 
be  angry  with  him,  he  was  so  candid  in  owning  it.  'Nay, 
Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  we  must  be  angry  that  a  man  has  such 
a  superabundance  of  an  odious  quality,  that  he  cannot  keep 
it  within  his  own  breast,  but  it  boils  over.'  In  my  opinion, 
however,  Goldsmith  had  not  more  of  it  than  other  people 
have,  but  only  talked  of  it  freely. 

He  now  seemed  very  angry  that  Johnson  was  going  to  be 
a  traveller;  said  'he  would  be  a  dead  weight  for  me  to  carry, 
and  that  I  should  never  be  able  to  lug  him  along  through 
the  Highlands  and  Hebrides.'  Nor  would  he  patiently  allow 
me  to  enlarge  upon  Johnson's  wonderful  abilities;  but  ex- 
claimed, 'Is  he  like  Burke,  who  winds  into  a  subject  like 
a  serpent?'  'But,  (said  I,)  Johnson  is  the  Hercules  who 
strangled  serpents  in  his  cradle.' 

I  dined  with  Dr.  Johnson  at  General  Paoli's.  He  was 
obliged,  by  indisposition,  to  leave  the  company  early;  he 
appointed  me,  however,  to  meet  him  in  the  evening  at  Mr. 
(now  Sir  Robert)  Chambers's  in  the  Temple,  where  he  ac- 
cordingly came,  though  he  continued  to  be  very  ill.  Cham- 
bers, as  is  common  on  such  occasions,  prescribed  various 
remedies  to  him.  Johnson,  (fretted  by  pain,)  'Pr'ythee 
don't  tease  me.  Stay  till  I  am  well,  and  then  you  shall  tell 
me  how  to  cure  myself.'  He  grew  better,  and  talked  with 
a  noble  enthusiasm  of  keeping  up  the  representation  of  re- 
spectable families.  His  zeal  on  this  subject  was  a  circum- 
stance in  his  character  exceedingly  remarkable,  when  it  is 
considered  that  he  himself  had  no  pretensions  to  blood.     I 


17731    JOHNSON  EXCEEDINGLY  DIVERTED        225 

heard  him  once  say,  '  I  have  great  merit  in  being  zealous  for 
subordination  and  the  honours  of  birth;  for  I  can  hardly  tell 
who  was  my  grandfather.'  He  maintained  the  dignity  and 
propriety  of  male  succession,  in  opposition  to  the  opinion  of 
one  of  our  friends,  who  had  that  day  employed  Mr.  Cham- 
bers to  draw  his  will,  devising  his  estate  to  his  three  sisters, 
in  preference  to  a  remote  heir  male.  Johnson  called  them 
'three  dowdies,'  and  said,  with  as  high  a  spirit  as  the  boldest 
Baron  in  the  most  perfect  days  of  the  feudal  system,  'An 
ancient  estate  should  always  go  to  males.  It  is  mighty 
foolish  to  let  a  stranger  have  it  because  he  marries  your 
daughter,  and  takes  your  name.  As  for  an  estate  newly 
acquired  by  trade,  you  may  give  it,  if  you  will,  to  the  dog 
Towser,  and  let  him  keep  his  awn  name.' 

I  have  known  him  at  times  exceedinglj-  diverted  at  what 
seemed  to  others  a  verj'  small  sport.  He  now  laughed  im- 
moderately, without  any  reason  that  we  could  perceive,  at 
our  friend's  making  his  will;  called  him  the  testator,  and 
added,  'I  dare  say,  he  thinks  he  has  done  a  mighty  thing. 
He  won't  stay  till  he  gets  home  to  his  seat  in  the  country,  to 
produce  this  wonderful  deed:  he'll  call  up  the  landlord  of 
the  first  inn  on  the  road;  and,  after  a  suitable  preface  upon 
mortality  and  the  uncertainty  of  life,  will  tell  him  that  he 
should  not  delay  making  his  will;  and  here.  Sir,  will  he  say, 
is  my  will,  which  I  have  just  made,  with  the  assistance  of  one 
of  the  ablest  lawyers  in  the  kingdom;  and  he  will  read  it  to 
him  (laughing  all  the  time).  He  believes  he  has  made  this 
will;  but  he  did  not  make  it:  you,  Chambers,  made  it  for 
him.  I  trust  you  have  had  more  conscience  than  to  make 
him  say,  "being  of  sound  understanding;"  ha,  ha,  ha!  I 
hope  he  has  left  me  a  legacy.  I'd  have  his  will  turned  into 
verse,  like  a  ballad.' 

Mr.  Chambers  did  not  by  any  means  reUsh  this  jocularity 
upon  a  matter  of  which  pars  magna  fuH,  and  seemed  impa- 
tient till  he  got  rid  of  us.  Johnson  could  not  stop  his  merri- 
ment, but  continued  it  all  the  way  till  we  got  without  the 
Temple-gate.  He  then  burst  into  such  a  fit  of  laughter,  that 
he  appeared  to  be  almost  in  a  convulsion;  and,  in  order  to 
support  himself,  laid  hold  of  one  of  the  posts  at  the  side  of 


226  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1773 

the  foot  pavement,  and  sent  forth  peals  so  loud,  that  in  the 
silence  of  the  night  his  voice  seemed  to  resound  from  Temple- 
bar  to  Fleet-ditch. 

This  most  ludicrous  exhibition  of  the  aweful,  melancholy, 
and  venerable  Johnson,  happened  well  to  counteract  the 
feelings  of  sadness  which  I  used  to  experience  when  parting 
with  him  for  a  considerable  time.  I  accompanied  him  to  his 
door,  where  he  gave  me  his  blessing. 


'To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

'Dear  Sir, — I  shall  set  out  from  London  on  Friday  the 
sixth  of  this  month,  and  purpose  not  to  loiter  much  by  the 
way.  Which  day  I  shall  be  at  Edinburgh,  I  cannot  exactly 
tell.  I  suppose  I  must  drive  to  an  inn,  and  send  a  porter  to 
find  you. 

'  I  am  afraid  Beattie  will  not  be  at  his  College  soon  enough 
for  us,  and  I  shall  be  sorry  to  miss  him;  but  there  is  no 
staying  for  the  concurrence  of  all  conveniences.  We  will  do 
as  well  as  we  can.     I  am.  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'Augusts,  1773.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 


To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

'Newcastle,  Aug.  11,  1773. 

*  Dear  Sir,  I  came  hither  last  night,  and  hope,  but  do  not 
absolutely  promise,  to  be  in  Edinburgh  on  Saturday.  Beattie 
will  not  come  so  soon.     I  am,  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'My  compUments  to  your  lady,'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

To  THE  Same. 

'Mr.  Johnson  sends  his  compUments  to  Mr.  Boswell,  being 
just  arrived  at  Boyd's. — Saturday  night.' 

His  stay  in  Scotland  was  from  the  18th  of  August,  on 
which  day  he  arrived,  till  the  22nd  of  November,  when  he 
set  out  on  his  return  to  London;   and  I  believe  ninety-four 


1774]  MISCELLANEOUS  AND  FUGITIVE  PIECES  227 

days  were  never  passed  by  any  man  in  a  more  vigorous 
exertion.' 

His  humane  forgiving  disposition  was  put  to  a  pretty 
strong  test  on  his  return  to  London,  by  a  liberty  which  Mr. 
Thomas  Davies  had  taken  with  him  in  his  absence,  which 
was,  to  publish  two  volumes,  entitled.  Miscellaneous  and 
fugitive  Pieces,  which  he  advertised  in  the  news-papers,  'By 
the  Authour  of  the  Rambler.'  In  this  collection,  several  of 
Dr.  Johnson's  acknowledged  writings,  several  of  his  anony- 
mous performances,  and  some  which  he  had  written  for 
others,  were  inserted;  but  there  were  also  some  in  which  he 
had  no  concern  whatever.  He  was  at  first  very  angry,  as  he 
had  good  reason  to  be.  But,  upon  consideration  of  his  poor 
friend's  narrow  cu-cumstances,  and  that  he  had  only  a  little 
profit  in  view,  and  meant  no  harm,  he  soon  relented,  and 
continued  his  kindness  to  him  as  formerly. 

In  the  course  of  his  self-examination  with  retrospect  to 
this  year,  he  seems  to  have  been  much  dejected ;  for  he  says, 
January  1,  1774,  'This  year  has  passed  with  so  little  im- 
provement, that  I  doubt  whether  I  have  not  rather  impaired 
than  increased  my  learning';  and  yet  we  have  seen  how 
he  read,  and  we  know  how  he  talked  during  that  period. 

He  was  now  seriously  engaged  in  writing  an  account  of  our 
travels  in  the  Hebrides,  in  consequence  of  which  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  a  more  frequent  correspondence  with  him. 

'To  Bennet  Langton,  Esq.,  at  Langton,  near 
Spilsby,  Lincolnshire. 

'Dear  Sir, — You  have  reason  to  reproach  me  that  I  have 
left  your  last  letter  so  long  unanswered,  but  I  had  nothing 
particular  to  say.     Chambers,  you  find,  is  gone  far,  and 

1  In  his  Journal  of  a  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,  published  the  year  after 
Johnson  died,  Boswell  gives  a  detailed  account  of  Johnson's  conversa- 
tion and  adventures  with  him  throughout  the  journey  of  1773.  Partly 
owing  to  their  iminterrupted  association,  partly  to  the  strangeness  and 
variation  of  baclcground  and  circumstances,  and  partly  to  Boswell's 
larger  leisure  during  the  tour  for  the  elaboration  of  his  account,  the 
journal  is  even  more  racy,  picturesque,  and  Interesting  thein  any  equal 
part  of  the  Life.  No  reader  who  enjoys  the  Life  should  fail  to  read  the 
Tour — unabridged  ! — Ed. 


228  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i774 

poor  Goldsmith  is  gone  much  further.  He  died  of  a  fever; 
•exasperated,  as  I  believe,  by  the  fear  of  distress.  He  had 
raised  money  and  squandered  it,  by  every  artifice  of  acquisi- 
tion, and  folly  of  expence.  But  let  not  his  frailties  be  re- 
membered; he  was  a  very  great  man. 

'I  have  just  begun  to  print  my  Journey  to  the  Hebrides, 
and  am  leaving  the  press  to  take  another  journey  into  Wales, 
whither  Mr.  Thrale  is  going,  to  take  possession  of,  at  least, 
iive  hundred  a  year,  fallen  to  his  lady.  All  at  Streatham, 
that  are  alive,  are  well. 

'  I  have  never  recovered  from  the  last  dreadful  illness,  but 
ilatter  myself  that  I  grow  gradually  better;  much,  however, 
yet  remains  to  mend.     Kupte  eXsit](jov. 

*  If  you  have  the  Latin  version  of  Busy,  curums,  thirsty  fly, 
he  so  kind  as  to  transcribe  and  send  it;  but  you  need  not  be 
in  haste,  for  I  shall  be  I  know  not  where,  for  at  least  five 
weeks.     I  wrote  the  following  tetastrick  on  poor  Goldsmith : — 

Tbv  Tcit4)ov  eiaop&aq  Tbv  'OXt^ipoio.    xov?ir)v 
A4>poat  (JL-J)  ffS(j.vTjv,  Sstve,  x6Seaat  xcitei- 

Olai  \t.i[i.t]ks  <j)u<i'?>  tiSTpwv  x^P'<?)  spYa  icocXocitJv,  ■. 
KXafsTS  xoiT]'U'i)v,  laToptxbv,  4>uatx6v. 

'Please  to  make  my  most  respectful  compliments  to  all 
the  ladies,  and  remember  me  to  young  George  and  his  sisters. 
I  reckon  George  begins  to  shew  a  pair  of  heels. 

'Do  not  be  sullen  now,  but  let  me  find  a  letter  when  I 
come  back.  I  am,  dear  Sir,  your  affectionate,  humble 
servant,  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

'July  5,  1774.' 

In  his  manuscript  diary  of  this  year,  there  is  the  following 
entry: — 

'Nov.  27.  Advent  Sunday.  I  considered  that  this  day, 
being  the  beginning  of  the  ecclesiastical  year,  was  a  proper 
time  for  a  new  course  of  life.  I  began  to  read  the  Greek 
Testament  regularly  at  160  verses  every  Sunday.  This  day 
I  began  the  Acts. 

'  In  this  week  I  read  Virgil's  Pastorals.  I  learned  to  repeat 
the  Pollio  and  Galium.     I  read  carelessly  the  first  GeorgickJ 


1775]  BOSWELL  TO  JOHNSON  229 

Such  evidences  of  his  unceashig  ardour,  both  for  'divine 
and  human  lore,'  when  advance  into  his  sixty-fifth  year, 
and  notwithstanding  his  many  disturbances  from  disease, 
must  make  us  at  once  honour  his  spirit,  and  lament  that  it 
should  be  so  grievously  clogged  by  its  material  tegument. 

1775:  JSTAT.  66.]— 

'Mr.  Boswell  to  Dr.  Johnson. 

'Edinburgh,  Feb.  2,  1775: 

*.  .  .  As  to  Macpherson,'  I  am  anxious  to  have  from  your- 
self a  full  and  pointed  account  of  what  has  passed  between 
you  and  him.  It  is  confidently  told  here,  that  before  your 
book  came  out  he  sent  to  you,  to  let  you  know  that  he  un- 
derstood you  meant  to  deny  the  authenticity  of  Ossian's 
poems;  that  the  originals  were  in  his  possession;  that  you 
might  have  inspection  of  them,  and  might  take  the  evidence 
of  people  skilled  in  the  Erse  language;  and  that  he  hoped, 
after  this  fair  offer,  you  would  not  be  so  uncandid  as  to  assert 
that  he  had  refused  reasonable  proof.  That  you  paid  no 
regard  to  his  message,  but  published  your  strong  attack 
upon  him;  and  then  he  wrote  a  letter  to  you,  in  such  terms 
as  he  thought  suited  to  one  who  had  -not  acted  as  a  man  of 
veracity.'  .  .  . 

What  words  were  used  by  Mr.  Macpherson  in  his  letter  to 
the  venerable  Sage,  I  have  never  heard;  but  they  are  gener- 
ally said  to  have  been  of  a  nature  very  different  from  the 
language  of  literary  contest.  Dr.  Johnson's  answer  ap- 
peared in  the  news-papers  of  the  day,  and  has  since  been 
frequently  re-published;  but  not  with  perfect  accuracy.  I 
give  it  as  dictated  to  me  by  himself,  written  down  in  his 
presence,  and  authenticated  by  a  note  in  his  own  hand- 
writing, '  This,  I  think,  is  a  true  copy.' 

'Mr.  James  Macpherson, — I  received  your  foolish  and 
impudent  letter.  Any  violence  offered  me  I  shall  do  my  best 
to  repel;  and  what  I  cannot  do  for  myself,  the  law  shall  do 

»  See  above,  p.  96. 


230  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1775 

for  me.     I  hope  I  shall  never  be  deterred  from  detecting 
what  I  think  a  cheat,  by  the  menaces  of  a  ruffian. 

'What  would  you  have  me  retract?  I  thought  your  book 
an  imposture;  I  think  it  an  imposture  still.  For  this  opin- 
ion I  have  given  my  reasons  to  the  publick,  which  I  here 
dare  you  to  refute.  Your  rage  I  defy.  Your  abilities,  since 
your  Homer,  are  not  so  formidable;  and  what  I  hear  of 
your  morals,  inclines  me  to  pay  regard  not  to  what  you  shall 
say,  but  to  what  you  shall  prove.  You  may  print  this  if 
you  will.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

Mr.  Macpherson  little  knew  the  character  of  Dr.  Johnson, 
if  he  supposed  that  he  could  be  easily  intimidated;  for  no 
man  was  ever  more  remarkable  for  personal  courage.  He 
had,  indeed,  an  aweful  dread  of  death,  or  rather,  'of  some- 
thing after  death;'  and  what  rational  man,  who  seriously 
thinks  of  quitting  all  that  he  has  ever  known,  and  going 
into  a  new  and  unknown  state  of  being,  can  be  without  that 
dread  ?  But  his  fear  was  from  reflection ;  his  courage  natural. 
His  fear,  in  that  one  instance,  was  the  result  of  philosophical 
and  religious  consideration.  He  feared  death,  but  he  feared 
nothing  else,  not  even  what  might  occasion  death.  Many 
instances  of  his  resolution  may  be  mentioned.  One  day,  at 
Mr.  Beauclerk's  house  in  the  country,  when  two  large  dogs 
were  fighting,  he  went  up  to  them,  and  beat  them  till  they 
separated;  and  at  a,nother  time,  when  told  of  the  danger 
there  was  that  a  gun  might  burst  if  charged  with  many  balls, 
he  put  in  six  or  seven,  and  fired  it  off  against  a  wall.  Mr. 
Langton  told  me,  that  when  they  were  swimming  together 
near  Oxford,  he  cautioned  Dr.  Johnson  against  a  pool,  which 
was  reckoned  particularly  dangerous;  upon  which  Johnson 
directly  swam  into  it.  He  told  me  himself  that  one  night  he 
was  attacked  in  the  street  by  four  men,  to  whom  he  would 
not  yield,  but  kept  them  all  at  bay,  till  the  watch  came  up, 
and  carried  both  him  and  them  to  the  round-house.  In  the 
playhouse  at  Lichfield,  as  Mr.  Garrick  informed  me,  John- 
son having  for  a  moment  quitted  a  chair  which  was  placed 
for  him  between  the  side-scenes,  a  gentleman  took  possession 
of  it,  and  when  Johnson  on  his  return  civilly  demanded  his 


17751  HIS  FEARLESSNESS  231 

seat,  rudely  refused  to  give  it  up;  upon  which  Johnson  laid 
hold  of  it,  and  tossed  him  and  the  chair  into  the  pit.  Foote, 
who  so  successfully  revived  the  old  comedy,  by  exhibiting 
living  characters,  had  resolved  to  imitate  Johnson  on  the 
stage,  expecting  great  profits  from  his  ridicule  of  so  cele- 
brated a  man.  Johnson  being  informed  of  his  intention,  and 
being  at  dinner  at  Mr.  Thomas  Davies's  the  bookseller,  from 
whom  I  had  the  story,  he  asked  Mr.  Davies  'what  was  the 
common  price  of  an  oak  stick;'  and  being  answered  six- 
pence, '  Why  then,  Sir,  (said  he,)  give  me  leave  to  send  your 
servant  to  purchase  me  a  shilling  one.  I'll  have  a  double 
quantity;  for  I  am  told  Foote  means  to  take  me  off,  as  he 
calls  it,  and  I  am  determined  the  fellow  shall  not  do  it  with 
impunity.'  Davies  took  care  to  acquaint  Foote  of  this,  which 
effectually  checked  the  wantonness  of  the  mimick.  Mr. 
Macpherson's  menaces  made  Johnson  provide  himself  with 
the  same  implement  of  defence;  and  had  he  been  attacked, 
I  have  no  doubt  that,  old  as  he  was,  he  would  have  made 
his  corporal  prowess  be  felt  as  much  as  his  intellectual. 

His  Journey  to  the  Western  Islands  of  Scotland  is  a  most 
valuable  performance.  Johnson's  grateful  acknowledge- 
ments of  kindnesses  received  in  the  course  of  this  tour,  com- 
pletely refute  the  brutal  reflections  which  have  been  thrown 
out  against  him,  as  if  he  had  made  an  ungrateful  return; 
and  his  delicacy  in  sparing  in  his  book  those  who  we  find 
from  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale  were  just  objects  of  censure, 
is  much  to  be  admired.  His  candour  and  amiable  disposi- 
tion is  conspicuous  from  his  conduct,  when  informed  by  Mr. 
Macleod,  of  Rasay,  that  he  had  committed  a  mistake,  which 
gave  that  gentleman  some  uneasiness.  He  wrote  him  a 
courteous  and  kind  letter,  and  inserted  in  the  news-papers 
an  advertisement,  correcting  the  mistake. 

As  to  his  prejudice  against  the  Scotch,  which  I  always 
ascribed  to  that  nationality  which  he  observed  in  thern,  he 
said  to  the  same  gentleman,  'When  I  find  a  Scotchman,  to 
whom  an  Englishman  is  as  a  Scotchman,  that  Scotchman 
shall  be  as  an  Englishman  to  me.'  His  intimacy  with  many 
gentlemen  of  Scotland,  and  his  employing  so  many  natives 
of  that  country  as  his  amanuenses,  prove  that  his  prejudice 


im  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  {it-is 

was  not  \drulent;  and  I  have  deposited  in  the  British  Mu- 
seum, amongst  other  pieces  of  his  writing,  the  following  note 
in  answer  to  one  from  me,  asking  if  he  would  meet  me  at 
dinner  at  the  Mitre,  though  a  friend  of  mine,  a  Scotchman, 
was  to  be  th^re: — 

'Mr.  Johnson  does  not  see  why  Mr.  Boswell  should  sup- 
pose a  Scotchman  less  acceptable  than  any  other  man.  He 
will  be  at  the  Mitre.' 

My  much-valued  friend  Dr.  Barnard,  now  Bishop  of  Kil- 
laloe,  having  once  expressed  to  him  an  apprehension,  that  if 
he  should  visit  Ireland  he  might  treat  the  people  of  that 
country  more  unfavourably  than  he  had  done  the  Scotch,  he 
answered,  with  strong  pointed  double-edged  wit,  '  Sir,  you 
have  no  reason  to  be  afraid  of  me.  The  Irish  are  not  in  a 
conspiracy  to  cheat  the  world  by  false  representations  of 
the  merits  of  their  countrymen.  No,  Sir;  the  Irish  are  a 
FAIR  people; — they  never  speak  well  of  one  another.' 

All  the  miserable  cavillings  against  his  Journey,  in  news- 
papers, magazines,  and  other  fugitive  publications,  I  can 
speak  from  certain  knowledge,  only  furnished  him  with 
sport.  At  last  there  came  out  a  scurrilous  volume,  larger 
than  Johnson's  own,  filled  with  malignant  abuse,  under  a 
name,  real  or  fictitious,  of  some  low  man  in  an  obscure 
corner  of  Scotland,  though  supposed  to  be  the  work  of  an- 
other Scotchman,  who  has  found  means  to  make  himself 
well  known  both  in  Scotland  and  England.  The  effect 
which  it  had  upon  Johnson  was,  to  produce  this  pleasant 
observation  to  Mr.  Seward,  to  whom  he  lent  the  book: 
'This  fellow  must  be  a  blockhead.  They  don't  know  how 
to  go  about  their  abuse.  Who  will  read  a  five-shilling  book 
against  me?  No,  Sir,  if  they  had  wit,  they  should  have  kept 
pelting  me  with  pamphlets.' 

On  Tuesday,  March  21,  I  arrived  in  London;  and  on  re- 
pairing to  Dr.  Johnson's  before  dinner,  found  him  in  his 
study,  sitting  with  Mr.  Peter  Garrick,  the  elder  brother  of 
David,  strongly  resembling  him  in  countenance  and  voice, 
but  of  more  sedate  and  placid  manners.  Johnson  informed 
me,  that  'though  Mr.  Beauclerk  was  in  great  pain,  it  was 
hoped  he  was  not  in  danger,  and  that  he  now  wished  to  con- 


1775)  TAXATION   NO  TYRANNY  233 

suit  Dr.  Heberden  to  try  the  effect  of  a  new  uriderslanding.' 
Both  at  this  interview,  and  in  the  evening  at  Mr.  Thrale's, 
where  he  and  Mr.  Peter  Garrick  and  I  met  again,  he  was 
vehement  on  the  subject  of  the  Ossian  controversy;  ob- 
serving, 'We  do  not  know  that  there  are  any  ancient  Erse 
manuscripts;  and  we  have  no  other  reason  to  disl^eUeve 
that  there  are  men  with  three  heads,  but  that  we  do  not 
know  that  there  are  any  such  men.'  He  also  was  outrageous, 
upon  his  supposition  that  my  countrymen  'loved  Scotland 
better  than  truth,'  saying,  'AH  of  them, — nay  not  all, — but 
droves  of  them,  would  come  up,  and  attest  any  thing  for  the 
honour  of  Scotland.'  He  also  persevered  in  his  wild  allega- 
tion, that  he  questioned  if  there  was  a  tree  between  Edin- 
burgh and  the  English  border  older  than  himself.  I  assured 
him  he  was  mistaken,  and  suggested  that  the  proper  punish- 
ment would  be  that  he  should  receive  a  stripe  at  every  tree 
above  a  hundred  years  old,  that  was  found  within  that  space. 
He  laughed,  and  said,  'I  believe  I  might  submit  to  it  for  a 
baubeef 

The  doubts  which,  in  my  correspondence  with  him,  I  had 
ventured  to  state  as  to  the  justice  and  wisdom  of  the  con- 
duct of  Great-Britain  towards  the  American  colonies,  while 
I  at  the  same  time  requested  that  he  would  enable  me  to 
inform  myself  upon  that  momentous  subject,  he  had  alto- 
gether disregarded;  and  had  recently  published  a  pamphlet, 
entitled.  Taxation  no  Tyranny;  an  answer  to  the  Resolutions 
and  Address  of  the  American  Congress. 

He  had  long  before  indulged  most  unfavourable  senti- 
ments of  our  fellow-subjects  in  America.  For,  as  early  as 
1769,  I  was  told  by  Dr.  John  Campbell,  that  he  had  said  of 
them,  'Sir,  they  are  a  race  of  convicts,  and  ought  to  be 
thankful  for  any  thing  we  allow  them  short  of  hanging.' 

Of  this  performance  I  avoided  to  talk  with  him;  for  I  had 
now  formed  a  clear  and  settled  opinion,  that  the  people  of 
America  were  well  warranted  to  resist  a  claim  that  their 
fellow-subjects  in  the  mother-country  should  have  the  en- 
tire command  of  their  fortunes,  by  taxing  them  without  their 
own  consent;  and  the  extreme  violence  which  it  breathed, 
appeared  to  me  so  unsuitable  to  the  mildness  of  a  christian 


234  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  {1776 

philosopher,  and  so  directly  opposite  to  the  principles  of 
peace  which  he  had  so  beautifully  recommended  in  his  pam- 
phlet respecting  Falkland's  Islands,  that  I  was  sorry  to  see 
him  appear  in  so  unfavourable  a  light. 

On  Friday,  March  24,  I  met  him  at  the  Literary  Club, 
where  were  Mr.  Beauclerk,  Mr.  Langton,  Mr.  Cohnan,  Dr. 
Percy,  Mr.  Vesey,  Sir  Charles  Bunbury,  Dr.  George  Fordyce, 
Mr.  Steevens,  and  Mr.  Charles  Fox.  Before  he  came  in, 
we  talked  of  his  Journey  to  the  Western  Islands,  and  of  his 
coming  away  'willing  to  believe  the  second  sight,'  which 
seemed  to  excite  some  ridicule.  I  was  then  so  impressed 
with  the  truth  of  many  of  the  stories  of  it  which  I  had  been 
told,  that  I  avowed  my  conviction,  saying,  'He  is  only  mUing 
to  believe:  I  do  believe.  The  evidence  is  enough  for  me, 
though  not  for  his  great  mind.  What  will  not  fill  a  quart 
bottle  will  fill  a  pint  bottle.  I  am  filled  with  belief.'  'Are 
you?  (said  Colman,)  then  cork  it  up.' 

I  found  his  Journey  the  common  topick  of  conversation  in 
London  at  this  time,  wherever  I  happened  to  be.  At  one 
of  Lord  Mansfield's  formal  Sunday  evening  conversations, 
strangely  called  Levees,  his  Lordship  addressed  me,  'We 
have  all  been  reading  your  travels,  Mr.  Boswell.'  I  an- 
swered, 'I  was  but  the  humble  attendant  of  Dr.  Johnson.' 
The  Chief  Justice  replied,  with  that  air  and  manner  which 
none,  who  ever  saw  and  heard  him,  can  forget,  'He  speaks 
ill  of  nobody  but  Ossian.' 

Johnson  was  in  high  spirits  this  evening  at  the  club,  and 
talked  with  great  animation  and  success.  He  attacked 
Swift,  as  he  used  to  do  upon  all  occasions.  The  Tale  of  a 
Tub  is  so  much  superiour  to  his  other  writings,  that  one  can 
hardly  believe  he  was  the  authour  of  it:  'there  is  in  it  such 
a  vigour  of  mind,  such  a  swarm  of  thoughts,  so  much  of 
nature,  and  art,  and  life.'  I  wondered  to  hear  him  say  of 
Gulliver's  Travels,  'When  once  you  have  thought  of  big  men 
and  little  men,  it  is  very  easy  to  do  all  the  rest.'  I  en- 
deavoured to  make  a  stand  for  Swift,  and  tried  to  rouse  those 
who  were  much  more  able  to  defend  him;  but  in  vain. 
Johnson  at  last,  of  his  own  accord,  allowed  very  great  merit 
to  the  inventory  of*  articles  found  in  the  pocket  of  the  Man 


17761  HOME'S  GOLD  MEDAL  235 

Mountain,  jmrticularly  the  description  of  his  watch,  which 
it  was  conjectured  was  his  God,  as  he  consulted  it  upon  all 
occasions.  He  observed,  that  'Swift  put  his  name  to  but 
two  things,  (after  he  had  a  name  to  put,)  The  Plan  for  the 
Improvement  of  the  English  Language,  and  the  last  Drapier^s 
Letter.' 

From  Swift,  there  was  an  easy  transition  to  Mr.  Thomas 
Sheridan. — ^Johnson.  'Sheridan  is  a  wonderful  admirer  of 
the  tragedy  of  Douglas,  and  presented  its  authour  with  a  gold 
medal.  Some  years  ago,  at  a  coffee-house  in  Oxford,  I  called 
to  him,  "Mr.  Sheridan,  Mr.  Sheridan,  how  came  you  to  give 
a  gold  medal  to  Home,  for  writing  that  fooHsh  play?"  This, 
you  see,  was  wanton  and  insolent;  but  I  meant  to  be  wanton 
and  insolent.  A  medal  has  no  value  but  as  a  stamp  of 
merit.  And  was  Sheridan  to  assume  to  himself  the  right  of 
giving  that  stamp?  If  Sheridan  was  magnificent  enough  to 
bestow  a  gold  medal  as  an  honorary  reward  of  dramatick 
excellence,  he  should  have  requested  one  of  the  Universities 
to  choose  the  person  on  whom  it  should  be  conferred.  Sheri- 
dan had  no  right  to  give  a  stamp  of  merit:  it  was  counter- 
feiting Apollo's  coin.' 

On  Monday,  March  27,  I  breakfasted  with  him  at  Mr. 
Strahan's.  He  told  us,  that  he  was  engaged  to  go  that 
evening  to  Mrs.  Abington's  benefit.  'She  was  visiting  some 
ladies  whom  I  was  visiting,  and  begged  that  I  would  come 
to  her  benefit.  I  told  her  I  could  not  hear :  but  she  insisted 
so  much  on  my  coming,  that  it  would  have  been  brutal  to 
have  refused  her.'  This  was  a  speech  quite  characteristical. 
He  loved  to  bring  forward  his  having  been  in  the  gay  circles 
of  life;  and  he  was,  perhaps,  a  little  vain  of  the  solicitations 
of  this  elegant  and  fashionable  actress.  He  told  us,  the 
play  was  to  be  the  The  Hypocrite,  altered  from  Gibber's  Non- 
juror, so  as  to  satirize  the  Methodists.  '  I  do  not  think  (said 
he,)  the  character  of  The  Hypocrite  justly  applicable  to  the 
Methodists,  but  it  was  very  applicable  to  the  Nonjurors.' 

Mr.  Strahan  had  taken  a  poor  boy  from  the  country  as 
an  apprentice,  upon  Johnson's  recommendation.  Johnson 
having  enquired  after  him,  said,  'Mr.  Strahan,  let  me  have 
five  guineas  on  account,  and  I'll  give  this  boy  one.     Nay, 


236  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1775 

if  a  man  recommends  a  boy,  and  does  nothing  for  him,  it  is 
sad  work.     Call  him  down.' 

I  followed  him  into  the  court-yard,  behind  Mr.  Strahan's 
house;  and  there  I  had  a  proof  of  what  I  had  heard  him 
profess,  that  he  talked  alike  to  all.  'Some  people  tell  you 
that  they  let  themselves  down  to  the  capacity  of  their  hear- 
ers. I  never  do  that.  I  speak  uniformly,  in  as  intelligible 
a  manner  as  I  can.' 

'Well,  my  boy,  how  do  you  go  on?' — 'Pretty  well.  Sir; 
but  they  are  afraid  I  an't  strong  enough  for  some  parts  of  the 
business.'  Johnson.  'Why,  I  shall  be  sorry  for  it;  for 
when  you  consider  with  how  Uttle  mental  power  and  cor- 
poreal labour  a  printer  can  get  a  guinea  a  week,  it  is  a  very 
desirable  occupation  for  you.  Do  you  hear, — take  all  the 
pains  you  can;  and  if  this  does  not  do,  we  must  think  of 
some  other  way  of  life  for  you.    There's  a  guinea.' 

Here  was  one  of  the  many,  many  instances  of  his  active 
benevolence.  At  the  same  time,  the  slow  and  sonorous  so- 
lemnity with  which,  while  he  bent  himself  down,  he  ad- 
dressed a  little  thick  short-legged  boy,  contrasted  with  the 
boy's  aukwardness  and  awe,  could  not  but  excite  some 
ludicrous  emotions. 

I  met  him  at  Drury-lane  play-house  in  the  evening.  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  at  Mrs.  Abington's  request,  had  promised 
to  bring  a  body  of  wits  to  her  benefit;  and  having  secured 
forty  places  in  the  front  boxes,  had  done  me  the  honour  to 
put  me  in  the  group.  Johnson  sat  on  the  seat  directly  be- 
hind me;  and  as  he  could  neither  see  nor  hear  at  such  a  dis- 
tance from  the  stage,  he  was  wrapped  up  in  grave  abstraction, 
and  seemed  quite  a  cloud,  amidst  all  the  sunshine  of  glitter 
and  gaiety.  I  wondered  at  his  patience  in  sitting  out  a  play 
of  five  acts,  and  a  farce  of  two.  He  said  very  little;  but 
after  the  prologue  to  Bon  Ton  had  been  spoken,  which  he 
could  hear  pretty  well  from  the  more  slow  and  distinct  utter- 
ance, he  talked  of  prologue-writing,  and  observed,  'Dryden 
has  written  prologues  superiour  to  any  that  David  Garrick 
has  written;  but  David  Garrick  has  written  more  good  pro- 
logues than  Dryden  has  done.  It  is  wonderful  that  he  has 
been  able  to  write  such  variety  of  them.' 


17751  GARRICK  IMITATES  JOHNSON  237 

At  Mr.  Beauclerk's,  where  I  supped,  was  Mr.  Garrick, 
whom  I  made  happy  with  Johnson's  praise  of  his  prologues; 
and  I  suppose,  in  gratitude  to  him,  he  took  up  one  of  his 
favourite  topicks,  the  nationality  of  the  Scotch,  which  he 
maintained  in  a  pleasant  manner,  with  the  aid  of  a  little 
poetical  fiction.  'Come,  come,  don't  deny  it:  they  are 
really  national.  Why,  now,  the  Adams  are  as  liberal-minded 
men  as  any  in  the  world:  but,  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  all 
their  workmen  are  Scotch.  You  are,  to  be  sure,  wonder- 
fully free  from  that  nationality:  but  so  it  happens,  that  you 
employ  the  only  Scotch  shoe-black  in  London.'  He  imi- 
tated the  manner  of  his  old  master  with  ludicrous  exaggera- 
tion; repeating,  with  pauses  and  half-whistlings  interjected, 

'Os  homini  sublime  dedit, — coelumque  tueri 
Jussit, — et  credos  ad  sidera — toUere  vidtus'; 

looking  downwards  all  the  time,  and,  while  pronouncing  the 
four  last  words,  absolutely  touching  the  ground  with  a  kind 
of  contorted  gesticulation. 

Garrick,  however,  when  he  pleased,  could  imitate  Johnson 
very  exactly;  for  that  great  actor,  with  his  distinguished 
powers  of  expression  which  were  so  universally  admired, 
possessed  also  an  admirable  talent  of  mimickry.  He  was 
always  jealous  that  Johnson  spoke  lightly  of  him.  I  recol- 
lect his  exhibiting  him  to  me  one  day,  as  if  saying,  'Davy 
has  some  convivial  pleasantry  about  him,  but  'tis  a  futile 
fellow;'  which  he  uttered  perfectly  with  the  tone  and  air  of 
Johnson.  . 

I  cannot  too  frequently  request  of  my  readers,  while  they 
peruse  my  account  of  Johnson's  conversation,  to  endeavour 
to  keep  in  mind  his  deliberate  and  strong  utterance.  His 
mode  of  speaking  was  indeed  very  impressive;  and  I  wish 
it  could  be  preserved  as  musick  is  written,  according  to  the 
very  ingenious  method  of  Mr.  Steele,  who  has  shewn  how 
the  recitation  of  Mr.  Garrick,  and  other  eminent  speakers, 
might  be  transmitted  to  posterity  in  score. 

Next  day  I  dined  with  Johnson  at  Mr.  Thrale's.  He  at- 
tacked Gray,   calling  him   'a  dull  fellow.'    Boswell.     'I 


238  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1775 

understand  he  was  reserved,  and  might  appear  dull  in  com- 
pany; but  surely  he  was  not  dull  in  poetry.'  Johnson. 
'Sir,  he  was  dull  in  company,  dull  in  his  closet,  dull  every 
where.  He  was  dull  in  a  new  way,  and  that  made  many 
people  think  him  great.  He  was  a  mechanical  poet.'  He 
then  repeated  some  ludicrous  lines,  which  have  escaped  my 
memory,  and  said,  '  Is  not  that  great,  like  his  Odes  ? '  Mrs. 
Thrale  maintained  that  his  Odes  were  melodious;  upon 
which  he  exclaimed, 

'Weave  the  warp,  and  weave  the  woof;' — 

I  added,  in  a  solemn  tone, 

'  The  winding-sheet  of  Edward's  race.' 

'There  is  a  good  line.'  'Ay,  (said  he,)  and  the  next  line  is 
a  good  one,'  (pronouncing  it  contemptuously;) 

'Give  ample  verge  and  room  enough.' — 

*No,  Sir,  there  are  but  two  good  stanzas  in  Gray's  poetry, 
which  are  in  his  Elegy  in  a  Country  Church-yard.'  He  then 
repeated  the  stanza, 

'For  who  to  dumb  forgetfulnesa  a  prey,'  &c. 

mistaking  one  word;  for  instead  of  precincts  he  said  confines. 
He  added,  'The  other  stanza  I  forget.' 

A  young  lady  who  had  married  a  man  much  her  inferiour 
in  rank  being  mentioned,  a  question  arose  how  a  woman's 
relations  should  behave  to  her  in  such  a  situation;  and, 
while  I  recapitulate  the  debate,  and  recollect  what  has  since 
happened,  I  cannot  but  be  struck  in  a  manner  that  delicacy 
forbids  me  to  express.  While  I  contended  that  she  ought  to 
be  treated  with  an  inflexible  steadiness  of  displeasure,  Mrs. 
Thrale  was  all  for  mildness  and  forgiveness,  and,  according 
to  the  vulgar  phrase,  'making  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain.' 
Johnson.  'Madam,  we  must  distinguish.  Were  I  a  man 
of  rank,  I  would  not  let  a  daughter  starve  who  had  made 


17751    JOHNSON  AND  THE  SEVILLE  ORANGES    239 

a  mean  marriage;  but  having  voluntarily  degraded  herself 
from  the  station  which  she  was  originally  entitled  to  hold, 
I  would  support  her  only  in  that  which  she  herself  had 
chosen;  and  would  not  put  her  on  a  level  with  my  other 
daughters.  You  are  to  consider,  Madam,  that  it  is  our  duty 
to  maintain  the  subordination  of  civilized  society;  and  when 
there  is  a  gross  and  shameful  deviation  from  rank,  it  should 
be  punished  so  as  to  deter  others  from  the  same  perversion.' 

On  Friday,  March  31,  I  supped  with  him  and  some  friends 
at  a  tavern.  One  of  the  company^  attempted,  with  too  much 
forwardness,  to  rally  him  on  his  late  appearance  at  the 
theatre;  but  had  reason  to  repent  of  his  temerity,  'Why, 
Sir,  did  you  go  to  Mrs.  Abington's  benefit?  Did  you  see?' 
Johnson.  'No,  Sir.'  'Did  you  hear?'  Johnson.  'No, 
Sir.'  'Why  then,  Sir,  did  you  go?'  Johnson.  'Because, 
Sir,  she  is  a  favourite  of  the  publick;  and  when  the  publick 
cares  the  thousandth  part  for  you  that  it  does  for  her,  I  will 
go  to  your  benefit  too.' 

Next  morning  I  won  a  small  bet  from  Lady  Diana  Beau- 
clerk,  by  asking  him  as  to  one  of  his  particularities,  which 
her  Ladyship  laid  I  durst  not  do.  It  seems  he  had  been 
frequently  observed  at  the  Club  to  put  into  his  pocket  the 
Seville  oranges,  after  he  had  squeezed  the  juice  of  them  into 
the  drink  which  he  made  for  himself.  Beauclerk  and  Gar- 
rick  talked  of  it  to  me,  and  seemed  to  think  that  he  had  a 
strange  unwillingness  to  be  discovered.  We  could  not  divine 
what  he  did  with  them;  and  this  was  the  bold  question  to  be 
put.  I  saw  on  his  table  the  spoils  of  the  preceding  night, 
some  fresh  peels  nicely  scraped  and  cut  into  pieces.  '  0,  Sir, 
(said  I,)  I  now  partly  see  what  you  do  with  the  squeezed 
oranges  which  you  put  into  your  pocket  at  the  Club.'  John- 
son. 'I  have  a  great  love  for  them.'  Boswell.  'And 
pray,  Sir,  what  do  you  do  with  them?  You  scrape  them,  it 
seems,  very  neatly,  and  what  next?'  Johnson.  'Let  them 
dry,  Sir.'  Boswell.  ' And  what  next ? '  Johnson.  'Nay, 
Sir,  you  shall  know  their  fate  no  further.'  Boswell.  'Then 
the  world  must  be  left  in  the  dark.  It  must  be  said  (assum- 
ing a  mock  solemnity,)  he  scraped  them,  and  let  them  dry, 
>  Very  likely  Boswell. — Hill. 


240  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1775 

but  what  ,he  did  with  them  next,  he  never  could  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  tell.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  you  should  say 
it  more  emphatically: — he  could  not  be  prevailed  upon,  even 
by  his  dearest  friends,  to  tell.' 

He  had  this  morning  received  his  Diploma  as  Doctor  of 
Laws  from  the  University  of  Oxford.  He  did  not  vaunt  of 
his  new  dignity,  but  I  understood  he  was  highly  pleased 
with  it. 

I  observed  to  him  that  there  were  very  few  of  his  friends 
so  accurate  as  that  I  could  venture  to  put  down  in  writing 
what  they  told  me  as  his  sajdngs.  Johnson.  'Why  should 
you  write  down  my  sayings?'  Boswell.  'I  write  them 
when  they  are  good.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  you  may  as  well 
write  down  the  sayings  of  any  one  else  that  are  good.'  But 
where,  I  might  with  great  propriety  have  added,  can  I  find 
such? 

Next  day,  Sunday, .  April  2,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr. 
Hoole's.  We  talked  of  Pope.  Johnson.  'He  wrote  his 
Dunciad  for  fame.  That  was  his  primary  motive.  Had  it 
not  been  for  that,  the  dunces  might  have  railed  against  him 
till  they  were  weary,  without  his  troubling  himself  about 
them.  He  delighted  to  vex  them,  no  doubt;  but  he  had 
more  delight  in  seeing  how  well  he  could  vex  them.' 

His  Taxation  no  Tyrannny  being  mentioned,  he  said,  'I 
think  I  have  not  been  attacked  enough  for  it.  Attack  is  the 
re-action;  I  never  think  I  have  hit  hard,  unless  it  rebounds.' 
Boswell.  'I  don't  know,  Sir,  what  you  would  be  at.  Five 
or  six  shots  of  small  arms  in  every  newspaper,  and  repeated 
cannonading  in  pamphlets,  might,  I  think,  satisfy  you.  But, 
Sir,  you'll  never  make  out  this  match,  of  which  we  have 
talked,  with  a  certain  political  ladj^*  since  you  are  so  severe 
against  her  principles.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  I  have  the 
better  chance  for  that.  She  is  like  the  Amazons  of  old;  she 
must  be  courted  by  the  sword.  But  I  have  not  been  severe 
upon  her.'  Boswell.  'Yes,  Sir,  you  have  made  her  ridic- 
ulous.' Johnson.  'That  was  already  done,  Sir.  To  en- 
deavour to  make  her  ridiculous,  is  like  blacking  the  chimney.' 

I  talked  of  the  cheerfulness  of  Fleet-street,  owing  to  the 
>  Croker  identifies  her  as  Mrs.  Macaulay.     See  p.  119. — Ed. 


1775]  ON  RETIRING  FROM  BUSINESS  241 

constant  quick  succession  of  people  which  we  perceive  pass- 
ing through  it.  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  Fleet-street  has  a 
very  animated  appearance;  but  I  think  the  full  tide  of 
human  existence  is  at  Charing-cross.' 

He  made  the  common  remark  on  the  unhappiness  which 
men  who  have  led  a  busy  life  experience,  when  they  retire 
in  expectation  of  enjoying  themselves  at  ease,  and  that  they 
generally  languish  for  want  of  their  habitual  occupation, 
and  wish  to  return  to  it.  He  mentioned  as  strong  an  instance 
of  this  as  can  well  be  imagined.  *  An  eminent  tallow-chandler 
in  London,  who  had  acquired  a  considerable  fortune,  gave 
up  the  trade  in  favour  of  his  foreman,  and  went  to  live  at 
a  country-house  near  town.  He  soon  grew  weary,  and  paid 
frequent  visits  to  his  old  shop,  where  he  desired  they  might 
let  him  know  their  melting-days,  and  he  would  come  and 
assist  them;  which  he  accordingly  did.  Here,  Sir,  was  a 
man,  to  whom  the  most  disgusting  circumstance  in  the  busi- 
ness to  which  he  had  been  used  was  a  relief  from  idleness.' 

On  Wednesday,  April  5,  I  dined  with  him  at  Messieurs 
Dilly's,  with  Mr.  John  Scott  of  Am  well,  the  Quaker,  Mr. 
Langton,  Mr.  Miller,  (now  Sir  John,)  and  Dr.  Thomas 
Campbell,  an  Irish  clergyman,  whom  I  took  the  liberty  of 
inviting  to  Mr.  Dilly's  table,  having  seen  him  at  Mr.  Thrale's, 
and  been  told  that  he  had  come  to  England  chiefly  with  a 
view  to  see  Dr.  Johnson,  for  whom  he  entertained  the  high- 
est veneration.  He  has  since  published  A  Philosophical 
Survey  of  the  South  of  Ireland,  a  verj'  entertaining  book, 
which  has,  however,  one  fault; — that  it  assumes  the  fictitious 
character  of  an  Englishman. 

We  talked  of  publick  speaking. — Johnson.  'We  must  not 
estimate  a  man's  powers  by  his  being  able  or  not  able  to 
deliver  his  sentiments  in  publick.  Isaac  Hawkins  Browne, 
one  of  the  first  wits  of  this  countr>',  got  into  Parliament, 
and  never  opened  his  mouth.  For  my  own  part,  I  think  it 
is  more  disgraceful  never  to  try  to  speak,  than  to  try  it  and 
fail;  as  it  is  more  disgraceful  not  to  fight,  than  to  fight  and 
be  beaten.'  This  argument  appeared  to  me  fallacious;  for 
if  a  man  has  not  spoken,  it  may  be  said  that  he  would  have 
done  verj'  well  it  he  had  tried;   whereas,  if  he  has  tried  and 


242  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1775 

failed,  there  is  nothing  to  be  said  for  him.  'Why  then, 
(I  asked,)  is  it  thought  disgraceful  for  a  man  not  to  fight,  and 
not  disgraceful  not  to  speak  in  publick?'  Johnson.  'Be- 
cause there  may  be  other  reasons  for  a  man's  not  speaking 
in  publick  than  want  of  resolution:  he  may  have  nothing 
to  say,  (laughing.)  Whereas,  Sir,  you  know  courage  is  reck- 
oned the  greatest  of  all  virtues;  because,  unless  a  man  has 
that  virtue,  he  has  no  security  for  preserving  any  other.' 

On  Thursday,  April  6,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Thomas 
Davies's,  with  Mr.  Hicky,  the  painter,  and  my  old  acquain- 
tance Mr.  Moody,  the  player. 

Dr.  Johnson,  as  usual,  spoke  contemptuously  of  CoUey 
Gibber.  'It  is  wonderful  that  a  man,  who  for  forty  years 
had  lived  with  the  great  and  the  witty,  should  have  acquired 
so  ill  the  talents  of  conversation:  and  he  had  but  half  to 
furnish;  for  one  half  of  what  he  said  was  oaths.'  He,  how- 
ever, allowed  considerable  merit  to  some  of  his  comedies, 
and  said  there  was  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  Careless 
Husband  was  not  written  by  himself.  Davies  said,  he  was 
the  first  dramatick  writer  who  introduced  genteel  ladies 
upon  the  stage.  Johnson  refuted  this  observation  by  in- 
stancing several  such  characters  in  comedies  before  his  time. 
Davies.  (trying  to  defend  himself  from  a  charge  of  igno- 
rance,) 'I  mean  genteel  moral  characters.'  'I  think  (said 
Hicky,)  gentility  and  morality  are  inseparable.'  Boswell. 
'By  no  means.  Sir.  The  genteelest  characters  are  often  the 
most  immoral.  Does  not  Lord  Chesterfield  give  precepts 
for  uniting  wickedness  and  the  graces?  A  man,  indeed, 
is  not  genteel  when  he  gets  drunk;  but  most  vices  may  be 
committed  very  genteelly:  a  man  may  debauch  his  friend's 
wife  genteelly:  he  may  cheat  at  cards  genteelly.'  Hicky. 
'I  do  not  think  </ia<  is  genteel.'  Boswell.  ' Sir,  it  may  not 
be  like  a  gentleman,  but  it  may  be  genteel.'  Johnson. 
'  You  are  meaning  two  different  things.  One  means  exteriour 
grace;  the  other  honour.  It  is  certain  that  a  man  may  be 
very  immoral  with  exteriour  grace.  Lovelace,  in  Clarissa, 
is  a  very  genteel  and  a  very  wicked  character.  Tom  Her- 
vey,  who  died  t'other  day,  though  a  vicious  man,  was  one 
of  the  genteelest  men  that  ever  lived.'     Tom  Davies  instanced 


1776]  CHARLES  THE  SECOND  243 

Charles  the  Second.  Johnson,  (taking  fire  at  any  attack 
upon  that  Prince,  for  whom  he  had  an  extraordinary  par- 
tiahty,)  'Charles  the  Second  was  licentious  in  his  practice; 
but  he  always  had  a  reverence  for  what  was  good.  Charles 
the  Second  knew  his  people,  and  rewarded  merit.  The  Church 
was  at  no  time  better  filled  than  in  his  reign.  He  was  the 
best  King  we  have  had  from  his  time  till  the  reign  of  his 
present  Majesty,  except  James  the  Second,  who  was  a  very 
good  King,  but  unhappily  believed  that  it  was  necessary  for 
the  salvation  of  his  subjects  that  they  should  be  Roman 
Catholicks.  He  had  the  merit  of  endeavouring  to  do  what 
he  thought  was  for  the  salvation  of  the  souls  of  his  subjects, 
till  he  lost  a  great  Empire.  We,  who  thought  that  we  should 
not  be  saved  if  we  were  Roman  Catholicks,  had  the  merit 
of  maintaining  our  religion,  at  the  expence  of  submitting 
ourselves  to  the  government  of  King  William,  (for  it  could 
not  be  done  otherwise,) — to  the  government  of  one  of  the 
most  worthless  scoundrels  that  ever  existed.     No;   Charles 

the  Second  was  not  such  a  man  as ,  (naming  another 

King) ,  He  did  not  destroy  his  father's  will.  He  took  money, 
indeed,  from  France:  but  he  did  not  betray  those  over 
whom  he  ruled:  he  did  not  let  the  French  fleet  pass  ours. 
George  the  First  knew  nothing,  and  desired  to  know  nothing; 
did  nothing,  and  desired  to  do  nothing:  and  the  only  good 
thing  that  is  told  of  him  is,  that  he  wished  to  restore  the 
crown  to  its  hereditary  successor.'  He  roared  with  prodigious 
violence  against  George  the  Second.  When  he  ceased,  Moody 
interjected,  in  an  Irish  tone,  and  with  a  comick  look,  'Ah! 
poor  George  the  Second.' 

I  mentioned  that  Dr.  Thomas  Campbell  had  come  from 
Ireland  to  London,  principally  to  see  Dr.  Johnson.  He 
seemed  angry  at  this  observation.  Davies.  'Why,  you 
know,  Sir,  there  came  a  man  from  Spain  to  see  Livy;  and 
Corelli  came  to  England  to  see  Purcell,  and  when  he  heard 
he  was  dead,  went  directly  back  again  to  Italy.'  Johnson. 
'I  should  not  have  wished  to  be  dead  to  disappoint  Camp- 
bell, had  he  been  so  foolish  as  you  represent  him;  but  I 
should  have  wished  to  have  been  a  hundred  miles  off.'  This 
was  apparently  perverse;    and  I  do  believe  it  was  not  his 


244  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1775 

real  way  of  thinking:  he  could  not  but  like  a  man  who 
came  so  far  to  see  him.  He  laughed  with  some  complacency, 
when  I  told  him  Campbell's  odd  expression  to  me  concerning 
him:  'That  having  seen  such  a  man,  was  a  thing  to  talk  of 
a  century  hence,' — as  if  he  could  live  so  long. 

We  got  into  an  argument  whether  the  Judges  who  went 
to  India  might  with  propriety  engage  in  trade.  Johnson 
warmly  maintained  that  they  might.  'For  why  (he  urged,) 
should  not  Judges  get  riches,  as  well  as  those  who  deserve 
them  less?'  I  said,  they  should  have  sufficient  salaries,  and 
have  nothing  to  take  off  their  attention  from  the  affairs  of 
the  publick.  Johnson.  *  No  Judge,  Sir,  can  give  his  whole 
attention  to  his  oflSce;  and  it  is  very  proper  that  he  should 
employ  what  time  he  has  to  himself,  to  his  own  advantage, 
in  the  most  profitable  manner.'  'Then,  Sir,  (said  Davies, 
who  enlivened  the  dispute  by  making  it  somewhat  dramat- 
ick,)  he  may  become  an  insurer;  and  when  he  is  going  to 
the  bench,  he  may  be  stopped, — "Your  Lordship  cannot  go 
yet:  here  is  a  bunch  of  invoices:  several  ships  are  about  to 
sail."'  Johnson.  'Sir,  you  may  as  well  say  a  Judge  should 
not  have  a  house;  for  they  may  come  and  tell  him,  "Your 
Lordship's  house  is  on  fire;"  and  so,  instead  of  minding  the 
business  of  his  Court,  he  is  to  be  occupied  in  getting  the 
engine  with  the  greatest  speed.  There  is  no  end  of  this. 
Every  Judge  who  has  land,  trades  to  a  certain  extent  in  corn 
or  in  cattle;  and  in  the  land  itself,  undoubtedly.  His 
steward  acts  for  him,  and  so  do  clerks  for  a  great  merchant. 
A  Judge  may  be  a  farmer;  but  he  is  not  to  geld  his  own 
pigs.  A  Judge  may  play  a  little  at  cards  for  his  amusement; 
but  he  is  not  to  play  at  marbles,  or  at  chuck-farthing  in  the 
Piazza.  No,  Sir;  there  is  no  profession  to  which  a  man 
gives  a  very  great  proportion  of  his  time.  It  is  wonderful, 
when  a  calculation  is  made,  how  little  the  mind  is  actually 
employed  in  the  discharge  of  any  profession.  No  man 
would  be  a  Judge,  upon  the  condition  of  being  totally  a 
Judge.  The  best  employed  lawyer  has  his  mind  at  work  but 
for  a  small  proportion  of  his  time;  a  great  deal  of  his  occu- 
pation is  merely  mechanical.  I  once  wrote  for  a  magazine: 
I  made  a  calculation,  that  if  I  should  write  but  a  page  a  day, 


1775]  THE  OPPRESSION  OF  AUTHORS  245 

at  the  same  rate,  I  should,  in  t«n  years,  write  nine  volumes 
in  folio,  of  an  ordinary  size  and  print.'  Boswell.  'Such 
as  Carte's  History?'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir.  When  a  man 
writes  from  his  own  mind,  he  writes  very  rapidly.  The 
greatest  part  of  a  writer's  time  is  spent  in  reading,  in  order 
to  write:  a  man  will  turn  over  half  a  library  to  make  one 
book.' 

We  spoke  of  Rolt,  to  whose  Dictionary  of  Commerce  Dr. 
Johnson  wrote  the  Preface.  Johnson.  'Old  Gardner  the 
bookseller  employed  Rolt  and  Smart  to  write  a  monthly  mis- 
cellany, called  The  Universal  Visitor.  There  was  a  formal 
written  contract,  which  Allen  the  printer  saw.  Gardner 
thought  as  you  do  of  the  Judge.  They  were  bound  to  write 
nothing  else;  they  were  to  have,  I  thuik,  a  third  of  the 
profits  of  this  sixpenny  pamphlet;  and  the  contract  was  for 
ninety-nine  years.  I  wish  I  had  thought  of  giving  this  to 
Thurlow,  in  the  cause  about  Literary  Property.  What  an 
excellent  instance  would  it  have  been  of  the  oppression  of 
booksellers  towards  poor  authours!'  (smiling.)  Davies, 
zealous  for  the  honour  of  the  Trade,  said,  Gardner  was  not 
properlj'  a  bookseller.  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir;  he  certainly 
was  a  bookseller.  He  had  served  his  time  regularly,  was 
a  member  of  the  Stationers'  company,  kept  a  shop  in  the 
face  of  mankind,  purchased  copyright,  and  was  a  bibliopole, 
Sir,  in  every  sense.  I  wrote  for  some  months  in  The  Uni- 
versal Visitor,  for  poor  Smart,  while  he  was  mad,  not  then 
knowing  the  terms  on  which  he  was  engaged  to  write,  and 
thinking  I  was  doing  him  good.  I  hoped  his  wits  would 
soon  return  to  him.  Mine  returned  to  me,  and  I  wrote  in 
The  Universal  Visitor  no  longer.' 

Friday,  April  7,  I  dined  with  him  at  a  Tavern,  with  a 
numerous  company. 

One  of  the  company  suggested  an  internal  objection  to 
the  antiquity  of  the  poetry  said  to  be  Ossian's,  that  we  do 
not  find  the  wolf  in  it,  which  must  have  been  the  case  had 
it  been  of  that  age. 

The  mention  of  the  wolf  had  led  Johnson  to  think  of  other 
wild  beasts;  and  while  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  and  Mr.  Lang- 
ton  were  carrying  on  a  dialogue  about  something  which 


246  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1775 

engaged  them  earnestly,  he,  in  the  midst  of  it,  broke  out, 
'Pennant  tells  of  Bears — '  [what  he  added,  I  have  forgotten.] 
They  went  on,  which  he  being  dull  of  hearing,  did  not  per- 
ceive, or,  if  he  did,  was  not  willing  to  break  off  his  talk;  so 
he  continued  to  vociferate  his  remarks,  and  Bear  {'  like  a  word 
in  a  catch'  as  Beauclerk  said,)  was  repeatedly  heard  at  in- 
tervals, which  coming  from  him  who,  by  those  who  did  not 
know  him,  had  been  so  often  assimilated  to  that  ferocious 
animal,  while  we  who  were  sitting  around  could  hardly  stifle 
laughter,  produced  a  very  ludicrous  effect.  Silence  having 
ensued,  he  proceeded:  'We  are  told,  that  the  black  bear  is 
innocent;  but  I  should  not  like  to  trust  myself  with  him.' 
Mr.  Gibbon  muttered,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  *I  should  not 
like  to  trust  myself  with  you.'  This  piece  of  sarcastick 
pleasantry  was  a  prudent  resolution,  if  applied  to  a  competi- 
tion of  abilities. 

Patriotism  having  become  one  of  our  topicks,  Johnson 
suddenly  uttered,  in  a  strong  determined  tone,  an  apoph- 
thegm, at  which  many  will  start:  'Patriotism  is  the  last 
refuge  of  a  scoundrel.'  But  let  it  be  considered,  that  he  did 
not  mean  a  real  and  generous  love  of  our  country,  but  that 
pretended  patriotism  which  so  many,  in  all  ages  and  coun- 
tries, have  made  a  cloak  for  self-interest. 

Mrs.  Prichard  being  mentioned,  he  said,  '  Her  playing  was 
'quite  mechanical.  It  is  wonderful  how  little  mind  she  had. 
r'Sir,  she  had  never  read  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth  all  through. 
;She  no  more  thought  of  the  play  out  of  which  her  part  was 
taken,  than  a  shoemaker  thinks  of  the  skin,  out  of  which 
the  piece  of  leather,  of  which  he  is  making  a  pair  of  shoes, 
is  cut.' 

On  Saturday,  April  8,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Thrale's, 
where  we  met  the  Irish  Dr.  Campbell.  Johnson  had  supped 
the  night  before  at  Mrs.  Abington's,  with  some  fashionable 
people  whom  he  named;  and  he  seemed  much  pleased  with 
having  made  one  in  so  elegant  a  circle.  Nor  did  he  omit  to 
pique  his  mistress  a  little  with  jealousy  of  her  housewifery; 
for  he  said,  (with  a  smile,)  'Mrs.  Abington's  jelly,  my  dear 
lady,  was  better  than  yours.' 

Mrs.  Thrale,  who  frequently  practised  a  coarse  mode  of 


1775]  AT  GENERAL   OGLETHORPE'S  247 

flattery,  by  repeating  his  hon-moU  in  his  hearing,  told  us 
that  he  had  said,  a  certain  celebrated  actor  was  just  fit  to 
stand  at  the  door  of  an  auction-room  with  a  long  pole,  and 
cry  'Pray  gentlemen,  walk  in;'  and  that  a  certain  authour, 
upon  hearing  this,  had  said,  that  another  still  more  cele- 
brated actor  was  fit  for  nothing  better  than  that,  and  would 
pick  your  pocket  after  you  came  out.  Johnson.  'Nay, 
my  dear  lady,  there  is  no  wit  in  what  our  friend  added; 
there  is  only  abuse.  You  may  as  well  say  of  any  man  that 
he  will  pick  a  pocket.  Besides,  the  man  who  is  stationed 
at  the  door  does  not  pick  people's  pockets;  that  is  done 
^^-ithin,  by  the  auctioneer.' 

On  Monday,  April  10,  I  dined  with  him  at  General  Ogle- 
thorpe's, with  Mr.  Langton  and  the  Irish  Dr.  Campbell, 
whom  the  General  had  obligingly  given  me  leave  to  bring 
with  me.  This  learned  gentleman  was  thus  gratified  with  a 
very  high  intellectual  feast,  by  not  only  being  in  company 
with  Dr.  Johnson,  but  with  General  Oglethorpe,  who  had 
been  so  long  a  celebrated  name  both  at  home  and  abroad. 

I  must,  again  and  again,  intreat  of  my  readers  not  to  sup- 
pose that  my  imperfect  record  of  conversation  contains  the 
whole  of  what  was  said  by  Johnson,  or  other  eminent  persons 
who  lived  with  him.  What  I  have  preserved,  however,  has 
the  value  of  the  most  perfect  authenticity. 

He  urged  General  Oglethorpe  to  give  the  world  his  Life. 
He  said,  'I  know  no  man  whose  Life  would  be  more  inter- 
esting. If  I  were  furnished  with  materials,  I  should  be  very 
glad  to  write  it.' 

Mr.  Scott  of  Amwell's  Elegies  were  lying  in  the  room.  Dr. 
Johnson  observed,  'They  are  very  well;  but  such  as  twenty 
people  might  write.'  Upon  this  I  took  occasion  to  contro- 
vert Horace's  maxim, 

mediocnbus  esse  poetis 


Non  Di,  non  fiomiries,  non  concessire  colutnnce.' 

For  here,  (I  observed,)  was  a  very  middle-rate  poet,  who 
pleased  many  readers,  and  therefore  poetry  of  a  middle  sort 
was  entitled  to  some  esteem;    nor  could  I  see  why  poetry 


248  LIFE   OF   DR.  JOHNSON  fii75 

should  not,  like  every  thing  else,  have  different  gradations  of 
excellence,  and  consequently  of  value.  Johnson  repeated 
the  common  remark,  that,  'as  there  is  no  necessity  for  our 
having  poetry  at  all,  it  being  merely  a  luxury,  an  instrument 
of  pleasure,  it  can  have  no  value,  unless  when  exquisite  in 
its  kind.'  I  declared  myself  not  satisfied.  'Why  then.  Sir, 
(said  he,)  Horace  and  you  must  settle  it.'  He  was  not  much 
in  the  humour  of  talking. 

No  more  of  his  conversation  for  some  days  appears  in  my 
journal,  except  that  when  a  gentleman  told  him  he  had 
bought  a  suit  of  lace  for  his  lady,  he  said,  'Well,  Sir,  you 
have  done  a  good  thing  and  a  wise  thing.'  'I  have  done  a 
good  thing,  (said  the  gentleman,)  but  I  do  not  know  that  I 
have  done  a  wise  thing.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir;  no  money 
is  better  sp)ent  than  what  is  laid  out  for  domestick  satisfac- 
tion. A  man  is  pleased  that  his  wife  is  drest  as  well  as  other 
people;  and  a  wife  is  pleased  that  she  is  drest.' 

On  Friday,  April  14,  being  Good-Friday,  I  repaired  to  him 
in  the  morning,  according  to  my  usual  custom  on  that  day, 
and  breakfasted  with  him.  I  observed  that  he  fasted  so 
very  strictly,  that  he  did  not  even  taste  bread,  and  took  no 
milk  with  his  tea;  I  suppose  because  it  is  a  kind  of  animal 
food. 

I  told  him  that  I  had  been  informed  by  Mr.  Orme,  that 
many  parts  of  the  East-Indies  were  better  mapped  than  the 
Highlands  of  Scotland.  Johnson.  'That  a  country  may 
be  mapped,  it  must  be  travelled  over.'  'Nay,  (said  I,  mean- 
ing to  laugh  with  him  at  one  of  his  prejudices,)  can't  you 
say,  it  is  not  worth  mapping?' 

As  we  walked  to  St.  Clement's  church,  and  saw  several 
shops  open  upon  this  most  solemn  fast-day  of  the  Christian 
world,  I  remarked,  that  one  disadvantage  arising  from  the 
immensity  of  London,  was,  that  nobody  was  heeded  by  his 
neighbour;  there  was  no  fear  of  censure  for  not  observing 
Good-Friday,  as  it  ought  to  be  kept,  and  as  it  is  kept  in 
country-towns.  He  said,  it  was,  upon  the  whole,  very  well 
observed  even  in  London.  He,  however,  owned,  that  Lon- 
don was  too  large;  but  added,  'It  is  nonsense  to  say  the 
head  is  too  big  for  the  body.     It  would  be  as  much  too  big, 


17751  IN  JOHNSON'S  STUDY  249 

though  the  body  were  ever  so  large;  that  is  to  say,  though 
the  country  were  ever  so  extensive.  It  has  no  similarity  to 
a  head  connected  with  a  body.' 

Dr.  Wetherell,  Master  of  University  College,  Oxford,  ac- 
companied us  home  from  church;  and  after  he  was  gone, 
there  came  two  other  gentlemen,  one  of  whom  uttered  the 
commonplace  complaints,  that  by  the  increase  of  taxes, 
labour  would  be  dear,  other  nations  would  undersell  us,  and 
our  commerce  would  be  ruined.  Johnson,  (smiling,)  'Never 
fear,  Sir.  Our  commerce  is  in  a  very  good  state;  and  sup- 
pose we  had  no  commerce  at  all,  we  could  live  very  well  on 
the  produce  of  our  own  country.'  I  cannot  omit  to  mention, 
that  I  never  knew  any  man  who  was  less  disposed  to  be 
querulous  than  Johnson.  Whether  the  subject  was  his  own 
situation,  or  the  state  of  the  publick,  or  the  state  of  human 
nature  in  general,  though  he  saw  the  evils,  his  mind  was 
turned  to  resolution,  and  never  to  whining  or  complaint. 

We  went  again  to  St.  Clement's  in  the  afternoon.  He  had 
found  fault  with  the  preacher  in  the  morning  for  not  choosing 
a  text  adapted  to  the  day.  The  preacher  in  the  afternoon 
had  chosen  one  extremely  proper:  'It  is  finished.' 

After  the  evening  service,  he  said,  'Come,  you  shall  go 
home  with  me,  and  sit  just  an  hour.'  But  he  was  better 
than  his  word;  for  after  we  had  drunk  tea  with  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams, he  asked  me  to  go  up  to  his  study  with  him,  where  we 
sat  a  long  while  together  in  a  serene  undisturbed  frame  of 
mind,  sometimes  in  silence,  and  sometimes  conversing,  as 
we  felt  ourselves  inclined,  or  more  properly  speaking,  as  he 
was  inclined;  for  during  all  the  course  of  my  long  intimacy 
with  him,  my  respectful  attention  never  abated,  and  my 
wish  to  hear  him  was  such,  that  I  constantly  watched  every 
dawning  of  communication  from  that  great  and  illuminated 
mind. 

He  again  advised  me  to  keep  a  journal  fully  and  minutely, 
but  not  to  mention  such  trifles  as,  that  meat  was  too  much 
or  too  little  done,  or  that  the  weather  was  fair  or  rainy.  He 
had,  till  very  near  his  death,  a  contempt  for  the  notion  that 
the  weather  affects  the  human  frame. 

I  told  him  that  our  friend  Goldsmith  had  said  to  me. 


250  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  (1775 

that  he  had  come  too  late  into  the  world,  for  that  Pope  and 
other  poets  had  taken  up  the  places  in  the  Temple  of  Fame; 
so  that,  as  but  a  few  at  any  period  can  possess  poetical 
reputation,  a  man  of  genius  can  now  hardly  acquire  it. 
Johnson.  'That  is  one  of  the  most  sensible  things  I  have 
ever  heard  of  Goldsmith.  It  is  difficult  to  get  literary  fame, 
and  it  is  every  day  growing  more  difficult.  Ah,  Sir,  that 
should  make  a  man  think  of  securing  happiness  in  another 
world,  which  all  who  try  sincerely  for  it  may  attain.  In 
comparison  of  that,  how  little  are  all  other  things !  The 
belief  of  immortality  is  impressed  upon  all  men,  and  all  men 
act  under  an  impression  of  it,  however  they  may  talk,  and 
though,  perhaps,  they  may  be  scarcely  sensible  of  it.'  I 
said,  it  appeared  to  me  that  some  people  had  not  the  least 
notion  of  immortality;  and  I  mentioned  a  distinguished 
gentleman  of  our  acquaintance.  Johnson.  'Sir,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  notion  of  immortality,  he  would  cut  a  throat  to 
fill  his  pockets.'  When  I  quoted  this  to  Beauclerk,  who  knew 
much  more  of  the  gentleman  than  we  did,  he  said,  in  his  acid 
manner,  'He  would  cut  a  throat  to  fill  his  pockets,  if  it  were 
not  for  fear  of  being  hanged.' 

He  was  pleased  to  say,  'If  you  come  to  settle  here,  we 
will  have  one  day  in  the  week  on  which  we  will  meet  by 
ourselves.  That  is  the  happiest  conversation  where  there  is 
no  competition,  no  vanity,  but  a  calm  quiet  interchange  of 
sentiments.'  In  his  private  register  this  evening  is  thus 
marked,  'Boswell  sat  with  me  till  night;  we  had  some  seri- 
ous talk.'  It  also  appears  from  the  same  record,  that  after  I 
left  him  he  was  occupied  in  religious  duties,  in  '  giving  Francis, 
his  servant,  some  directions  for  preparation  to  communicate; 
in  reviewing  his  life,  and  resolving  on  better  conduct.'  The 
humility  and  piety  which  he  discovers  on  such  occasions,  is 
truely  edifying.  No  saint,  however,  in  the  course  of  his 
religious  warfare,  was  more  sensible  of  the  unhappy  failure 
of  pious  resolves,  than  Johnson.  He  said  one  day,  talking 
to  an  acquaintance  on  this  subject,  'Sir  Hell  is  paved  with 
good  intentions.' 

On  Sunday,  April  16,  being  Easter  Day,  after  having  at- 
tended the  solemn  service  at  St.  Paul's,  I  dined  with  Dr. 


1775]  VALUE  OF  READING  251 

Johnson  and  Mrs.  Williams.  I  maintained  that  Horace  was 
wrong  in  placing  happiness  in  Nil  admirari,  for  that  I  thought 
admiration  one  of  the  most  agreeable  of  all  our  feelings; 
and  I  regretted  that  I  had  lost  much  of  my  dispodtioa  to 
admire,  which  people  generally  do  as  they  advance  in  life. 
Johnson.  'Sir,  as  a  man  advances  in  life,  he  gets  what  is- 
better  than  admiration — judgement,  to  estimate  thiugB  at 
their  true  value.'  I  still  insisted  that  admiration  was  more 
pleasing  than  judgement,  as  love  is  more  pleasing  than  friend- 
ship.  The  feeling  of  friendship  is  like  that  o(  being  eom- 
fortably  filled  with  roast  beef;  love,  like  being  enlivened 
with  champagne.  Johnson.  'No,  Sir;  admiratkxv  and  love 
are  like  being  intoxicated  with  champagne;  judgement  and 
friendship  like  being  enlivened.  Waller  has  hit  upon  the 
same  thought  with  you:  but  I  don't  believe  you  have  bor- 
rowed from  Waller.  I  wish  you  would  enable  yoorself  to 
borrow  more.' 

He  then  took  occasion  to  enlarge  on  the  advantages  of 
reading,  and  combated  the  idle  superficial  notion,  that  knowl- 
edge enough  may  be  acquired  in  conversation.  'The  foun- 
dation (said  he,)  must  be  laid  by  reading.  General  praoci- 
ples  must  be  had  from  books,  which,  however,  must  be 
brought  to  the  test  of  real  life.  In  conversation  yoa  never 
get  a  system.  What  is  said  upwn  a  subject  is  to  be  gathered 
from  a  hundred  people.  The  parts  of  a  truth,  which  a  man 
gets  thus,  are  at  such  a  distance  from  each  other  that  he 
never  attains  to  a  full  view.' 

On  Tuesday,  April  18,  he  and  I  were  engaged  to  go  with 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  to  dine  with  Mr.  Cambridge,  at  his 
beautiful  villa  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  near  Twicken- 
ham. Dr.  Johnson's  tardiness  was  such,  that  Sir  Joshua, 
who  had  an  appointment  at  Richmond,  early  in  the  day, 
was  obliged  to  go  by  himself  on  horseback,  leaving  his  coach 
to  Johnson  and  me.  Johnson  was  in  such  good  spirits,  that 
every  thing  seemed  to  please  him  as  we  drove  along. 

Our  conversation  turned  on  a  variety  of  subjects.  He 
thought  portrait-painting  an  improper  employment  for  a 
woman.  'Publick  practice  of  any  art,  (he  observed,)  and 
staring  in  men's  faces,  is  very  indelicate  in  a  female.'    I 


252  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1775 

happened  to  start  a  question,  whether,  when  a  man  knows 
that  some  of  his  intimate  friends  are  invited  to  the  house 
of  another  friend,  with  whom  they  are  all  equally  intimate, 
he  may  join  them  without  an  invitation.  Johnson.  'No, 
Sir;  he  is  not  to  go  when  he  is  not  invited.  They  may  be 
invited  on  purpose  to  abuse  him'  (smiling). 

As  a  curious  instance  how  little  a  man  knows,  or  wishes 
to  know,  his  own  character  in  the  world,  or,  rather,  as  a 
convincing  proof  that  Johnson's  roughness  was  only  external, 
and  did  not  proceed  from  his  heart,  I  insert  the  following 
dialogue.  Johnson.  'It  is  wonderful.  Sir,  how  rare  a 
quality  good  humour  is  in  life.  We  meet  with  very  few 
good  humoured  men.'  I  mentioned  four  of  our  friends, 
none  of  whom  he  would  allow  to  be  good  humoured.  One 
was  acid,  another  was  mvddy,  and  to  the  others  he  had  ob- 
jections which  have  escap)ed  me.  Then,  shaking  his  head 
and  stretching  himself  at  ease  in  the  coach,  and  smiling  with 
much  complacency,  he  turned  to  me  and  said,  'I  look  upon 
myself  as  a  good  humoured  fellow.'  The  epithet  fellow,  ap- 
plied to  the  great  Lexicographer,  the  stately  Moralist,  the 
masterly  critick,  as  if  he  had  been  Sam  Johnson,  a  mere 
pleasant  companion,  was  highly  diverting;  and  this  light 
notion  of  himself  struck  me  with  wonder.  I  answered,  also 
smiling, '  No,  no.  Sir;  that  will  not  do.  You  are  good  natured, 
but  not  good  humoured:  you  are  irascible.  You  have  not 
patience  with  folly  and  absurdity.  I  believe  you  would 
pardon  them,  if  there  were  time  to  deprecate  your  vengeance ; 
but  punishment  follows  so  quick  after  sentence,  that  they 
cannot  escaj)e.' 

I  had  brought  with  me  a  great  bundle  of  Scotch  magazines 
and  news-papers,  in  which  his  Journey  to  the  Western  Islands 
was  attacked  in  every  mode;  and  I  read  a  great  part  of 
them  to  him,  knowing  they  would  afford  him  entertainment. 
I  wish  the  writers  of  them  had  been  present:  they  would 
have  been  sufficiently  vexed.  One  ludicrous  imitation  of 
his  style,  by  Mr.  Maclaurin,  now  one  of  the  Scotch  Judges, 
with  the  title  of  Lord  Dreghorn,  was  distinguished  by  him 
from  the  rude  mass.  'This  (said  he,)  is  the  best.  But  I 
could  caricature  my  OAvn  style  much  better  myself.'    He 


17751  THE  BACKS  OF  BOOKS  253 

defended  his  remark  upon  the  general  insufficiency  of  educa- 
tion in  Scotland;  and  confirraed  to  me  the  authenticity  of 
his  witty  saying  on  the  learning  of  the  Scotch; — 'Their 
learning  is  like  bread  in  a  besieged  town:  every  man  gets 
a  little,  but  no  man  gets  a  full  meal.'  'There  is  (said  he,) 
in  Scotland,  a  diffusion  of  learning,  a  certain  portion  of  it 
widely  and  thinly  spread.  A  merchant  there  has  as  much 
learning  as  one  of  their  clergj'.' 

No  sooner  had  we  made  our  bow  to  Mr.  Cambridge,  in  his 
library,  than  Johnson  ran  eagerly  to  one  side  of  the  room, 
intent  on  poring  over  the  backs  of  the  books.  Sir  Joshua 
observed,  (aside,)  'He  runs  to  the  books,  as  I  do  to  the 
pictures:  but  I  have  the  advantage.  I  can  see  much  more 
of  the  pictures  than  he  can  of  the  books.'  Mr.  Cambridge, 
upon  this,  poHtely  said,  'Dr.  Johnson,  I  am  going,  with 
your  pardon,  to  accuse  myself,  for  I  have  the  same  custom 
which  I  perceive  you  have.  But  it  seems  odd  that  one 
should  have  such  a  desire  to  look  at  the  backs  of  books.' 
Johnson,  ever  ready  for  contest,  instantly  started  from  his 
reverie,  wheeled  about,  and  answered,  'Sir,  the  reason  Is 
very  plain.  Knowledge  is  of  two  kinds.  We  know  a  sub- 
ject ourselves,  or  we  know  where  we  can  find  information 
upon  it.  When  we  enquire  into  any  subject,  the  first  thing 
we  have  to  do  is  to  know  what  books  have  treated  of  it. 
This  leads  us  to  look  at  catalogues,  and  the  backs  of  books 
in  libraries.'  Sir  Joshua  observed  to  me  the  extraordinary 
promptitude  with  which  Johnson  flew  upon  an  argument. 
*Yes,  (said  I,)  he  has  no  formal  preparation,  no  flourishing 
with  his  sword;  he  is  through  your  body  in  an  instant.' 

Johnson  was  here  solaced  with  an  elegant  entertainment, 
a  very  accomplished  family,  and  much  good  company; 
among  whom  was  Mr.  Harris  of  Salisbury,  who  paid  him 
many  compliments  on  his  Journey  to  the  Western  Islands. 

The  common  remark  as  to  the  utility  of  reading  history 
being  made; — Johnson.  'We  must  consider  how  very  little 
history  there  is;  I  mean  real  authentick  history.  That 
certain  Kings  reigned,  and  certain  battles  were  fought,  we 
can  depend  upon  as  true;  but  all  the  colouring,  all  the 
philosophy  of  history  b  conjecture.'     Boswell.     'Then,  Sir, 


254  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [ms- 

you  would  reduce  all  history  to  no  better  than  an  almanack^ 
a  mere  chronological  series  of  remarkable  events.'  Mr» 
Gibbon,  who  must  at  that  time  have  been  employed  upon 
his  History,  of  which  he  published  the  first  volume  in  the 
following  year,  was  present;  but  did  not  step  forth  in  de- 
fence of  that  species  of  writing.  He  probably  did  not  like 
to  trust  himself  with  Johnson  !  ^ 

The  Beggar's  Opera,  and  the  common  question,  whether 
it  was  pernicious  in  its  effects,  having  been  introduced; — 
Johnson.  'As  to  this  matter,  which  has  been  very  much, 
contested,  I  myself  am  of  opinion,  that  more  influence  has 
been  ascribed  to  The  Beggar's  Opera,  than  it  in  reality  ever 
had;  for  I  do  not  believe  that  any  man  was  ever  made  a 
rogue  by  being  present  at  its  representation.  At  the  same 
time  I  do  not  deny  that  it  may  have  some  influence,  by 
making  the  character  of  a  rogue  familiar,  and  in  some  de- 
gree pleasing.'  Then  collecting  himself  as  it  were,  to  give 
a  heavy  stroke :  '  There  is  in  it  such  a  labefactation  of  all  prin- 
ciples, as  may  be  injurious  to  morality.' 

While  he  pronounced  this  response,  we  sat  in  a  comical 
sort  of  restraint,  smothering  a  laugh,  which  we  were  afraid 
might  burst  out. 

We  talked  of  a  young  gentleman's*  marriage  with  an  emi- 
nent singer,  and  his  determination  that  she  should  no  longer 
sing  in  publick,  though  his  father  was  very  earnest  she 
should,  because  her  talents  would  be  liberally  rewarded,  so 
as  to  make  her  a  good  fortune.  It  was  questioned  whether 
the  young  gentleman,  who  had  not  a  shilling  in  the  world, 
but  was  blest  with  very  uncommon  talents,  was  not  foolishly 
delicate,  or  foolishly  proud,  and  his  father  truely  rational 
without  being  mean.  Johnson,  with  all  the  high  spirit  of 
a  Roman  senator,  exclaimed,  'He  resolved  wisely  and  nobly 
to  be  sure.  He  is  a  brave  man.  Would  not  a  gentleman  be 
disgraced  by  having  his  wife  singing  publickly  for  hire? 
No,  Sir,  there  can  be  no  doubt  here.     I  know  not  if  I  should 

>  See  above,  p.  246. — Ed. 

'  Probably  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan,  whose  romantic  marriage 
with  the  beautiful  Elizabeth  Linley  took  place  in  1773.  Ho  became 
"»  member  of  the  Club  on  Johnson's  proposal.     See  below,  p.  326. — Ed. 


1776]  UNIVERSITY  VERSES  255 

not  prepare  myself  for  a  publick  singer,  as  readily  as  let  my 
wife  be  one.' 

Johnson  arraigned  the  modem  politicks  of  this  country, 
as  entirely  devoid  of  all  principle  of  whatever  kind.  'Poli- 
ticks (said  he,)  are  now  nothing  more  than  means  of  rising 
in  the  world.  With  this  sole  view  do  men  engage  in  poli- 
ticks, and  their  whole  conduct  proceeds  upon  it.' 

Somebody  found  fault  with  writing  verses  in  a  dead  lan- 
guage, maintaining  that  they  were  merely  arrangements  of 
so  many  words,  and  laughed  at  the  Universities  of  Oxford 
and  Cambridge,  for  sending  forth  collections  of  them  not 
only  in  Greek  and  Latin,  but  even  in  Syriac,  Arabick,  and 
other  more  unknown  tongues.  Johnson.  '  I  would  have  as 
many  of  these  as  possible;  I  would  have  verses  in  every 
language  that  there  are  the  means  of  acquiring.  Nobody 
imagines  that  an  University  is  to  have  at  once  two  hundred 
poets;  but  it  should  be  able  to  show  two  hundred  scholars. 
Pieresc's  death  was  lamented,  I  think,  in  forty  languages. 
And  I  would  have  had  at  every  coronation,  and  every  death 
of  a  King,  every  Gaudium,  and  every  Luctus,  University 
verses,  in  as  many  languages  as  can  be  acquired.  I  would 
have  the  world  to  be  thus  told,  "Here  is  a  school  where 
every  thing  may  be  learnt."' 

Having  set  out  next  day  on  a  visit  to  the  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke, at  Wilton,  and  to  my  friend,  Mr.  Temple,  at  Mam- 
head,  in  Devonshire,  and  not  having  returned  to  town  till 
the  second  of  May,  I  did  not  see  Dr.  Johnson  for  a  consider- 
able time,  and  during  the  remaining  part  of  my  stay  in  Lon- 
don, kept  very  imperfect  notes  of  his  conversation,  which 
had  I  according  to  my  usual  custom  written  out  at  large  sooa 
after  the  time,  much  might  have  been  preserved,  which  is 
now  irretrievably  lost. 

On  Monday,  May  8,  we  went  together  and  visited  the 
mansions  of  Bedlam.  I  had  been  informed  that  he  had  once 
been  there  before  with  Mr.  Wedderbume,  (now  Lord  Lough- 
borough,) Mr.  Murphy,  and  Mr.  Foote;  and  I  had  heard 
Foote  give  a  very  entertaining  account  of  Johnson's  happen- 
ing to  have  his  attention  arrested  by  a  man  who  was  very 
furious,  and  who,  while  beating  his  straw,  supposed  it  was 


256  LIFE   OF   DR.   JOHNSON  [i776 

William  Duke  of  Cumberland,  whom  he  was  punishing  for 
his  cruelties  in  Scotland,  in  1746.  There  was  nothing  jjecu- 
liarly  remarkable  this  day;  but  the  general  contemplation 
of  insanity  was  very  affecting.  I  accompanied  him  home, 
and  dined  and  drank  tea  with  him. 

On  Friday,  May  12,  as  he  had  been  so  good  as  to  assign 
me  a  room  in  his  house,  where  I  might  sleep  occasionally, 
when  I  happened  to  sit  with  him  to  a  late  hour,  I  took  pos- 
session of  it  this  night,  found  every  thing  in  excellent  order, 
and  was  attended  by  honest  Francis  with  a  most  civil  assi- 
duity. I  asked  Johnson  whether  I  might  go  to  a  consulta- 
tion with  another  lawyer  upon  Sunday,  as  that  appeared  to 
me  to  be  doing  work  as  much  in  my  way,  as  if  an  artisan 
should  work  on  the  day  appropriated  for  religious  rest. 
Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  when  you  are  of  consequence  enough 
to  oppose  the  practice  of  consulting  upon  Sunday,  you 
should  do  it:  but  you  may  go  now.  It  is  not  criminal, 
though  it  is  not  what  one  should  do,  who  is  anxious  for  the 
preservation  and  increase  of  piety,  to  which  a  peculiar  ob- 
servance of  Sunday  is  a  great  help.  The  distinction  is  clear 
between  what  is  of  moral  and  what  is  of  ritual  obligation.' 

On  Saturday,  May  13,  I  breakfasted  with  him  by  invita- 
tion, accompanied  by  Mr.  Andrew  Crosbie,  a  Scotch  Advo- 
cate, whom  he  had  seen  at  Edinburgh,  and  the  Hon.  Colonel 
(now  General)  Edward  Stopford,  brother  to  Lord  Courtown, 
who  was  desirous  of  being  introduced  to  him.  His  tea  and 
rolls  and  butter,  and  whole  breakfast  apparatus  were  all  in 
such  decorum,  and  his  behaviour  was  so  courteous,  that 
Colonel  Stopford  was  quite  surprized,  and  wondered  at  his 
having  heard  so  much  said  of  Johnson's  slovenMness  and 
roughness. 

I  passed  many  hours  with  him  on  the  17th,  of  which  I 
find  all  my  memorial  is,  'much  laughing.'  It  should  seem 
he  had  that  day  been  in  a  humour  for  jocularity  and  merri- 
ment, and  upon  such  occasions  I  never  knew  a  man  laugh  more 
heartily.  We  may  suppose,  that  the  high  relish  of  a  state 
so  different  from  his  habitual  gloom,  produced  more  than  ordi- 
nary exertions  of  that  distinguishing  faculty  of  man,  which 
has   puzzled   philosophers  so  much  to   explain.    Johnson's 


1775]  LETTER  TO  BOSWELL  257 

laugh  was  as  remarkable  as  any  circumstance  in  his  manner. 
It  was  a  kind  of  good  humoured  growl.  Tom  Da  vies  de- 
scribed it  drolly  enough:  'He  laughs  like  a  rhinoceros.' 

'To  Bennet  Langton,  Esq. 

'^Dear  Sir, — I  have  an  old  amanuensis  in  great  distress. 
I  have  given  what  I  think  I  can  give,  and  begged  till  I  can- 
not tell  where  to  beg  again.  I  put  into  his  hands  this  morn- 
ing four  guineas.  If  you  could  collect  three  guineas  more^ 
it  would  clear  him  from  his  present  diflSculty.  I  am,  Sir, 
your  most  humble  servant, 

'May  21,  1775.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

After  my  return  to  Scotland,  I  wrote  three  letters  to  him. 

'To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

'Dear  Sir, — I  am  returned  from  the  annual  ramble  into 
the  middle  counties.  Having  seen  nothing  I  had  not  seen 
before,  I  have  nothing  to  relate.  Time  has  left  that  part  of 
the  island  few  antiquities ;  and  commerce  has  left  the  people 
no  singularities.  I  was  glad  to  go  abroad,  and,  perhaps, 
glad  to  come  home;  which  is,  in  other  words,  I  was,  I  am 
afraid,  weary  of  being  at  home,  and  weary  of  being  abroad. 
Is  not  this  the  state  of  life  ?  But,  if  we  confess  this  weariness^ 
let  us  not  lament  it,  for  all  the  wise  and  all  the  good  say, 
that  we  may  cure  it.  .  .  . 

'Mrs.  Thrale  was  so  entertained  with  your  Journal,'^  that 
she  almost  read  herself  blind.  She  has  a  great  regard  for 
you. 

'  Of  Mrs.  Boswell,  though  she  knows  in  her  heart  that  she 
does  not  love  me,  I  am  always  glad  to  hear  any  good,  and 
hope  that  she  and  the  little  dear  ladies  will  have  neither 
sickness  nor  any  other  affliction.  But  she  knows  that  she 
does  not  care  what  becomes  of  me,  and  for  that  she  may  be 
sure  that  I  think  her  very  much  to  blame. 

.  '  My  Journal  of  a  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,  which  that  lady  read  In  the 
original  manuscript. — Boswell. 


258  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i775 

'Never,  my  dear  Sir,  do  you  take  it  into  your  head  to 
think  that  I  do  not  love  you;  you  may  settle  yourself  in  full 
confidence  both  of  my  love  and  my  esteem;  I  love  you  as 
a  kind  man,  I  value  you  as  a  worthy  man,  and  hope  in  time 
to  reverence  you  as  a  man  of  exemplary  piety.  I  hold  you, 
as  Hamlet  has  it,  "in  my  heart  of  hearts,"  and  therefore,  it 
is  little  to  say,  that  I  am.  Sir,  your  affectionate  humble 
servant,  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

'London,  Aug.  27,  1775.' 

'To  Mr.  Robert  Le\tet. 

'Paris,!  Oct.  22,  1775. 

'Dear  Sir, — ^We  are  still  here,  commonly  very  busy  in 
looking  about  us.  We  have  been  to-day  at  Versailles.  You 
have  seen  it,  and  I  shall  not  describe  it.  We  came  yester- 
day from  Fontainbleau,  where  the  Court  is  now.  We  went 
to  see  the  King  and  Queen  at  dinner,  and  the  Queen  was  so 
impressed  by  Miss,^  that  she  sent  one  of  the  Gentlemen  to 
enquire  who  she  was.  I  find  all  true  that  you  have  ever 
told  me  of  Paris.  Mr.  Thrale  is  very  liberal,  and  keeps  us 
two  coaches,  and  a  very  fine  table;  but  I  think  our  cookery 
very  bad.  Mrs.  Thrale  got  into  a  convent  of  English  nuns, 
and  I  talked  with  her  through  the  grate,  and  I  am  very 
Icindly  used  by  the  English  Benedictine  friars.  But  upon  the 
whole  I  cannot  make  much  acquaintance  here;  and  though 
the  churches,  palaces,  and  some  private  houses  are  very 
magnificent,  there  is  no  very  great  pleasure  after  having  seen 
many,  in  seeing  more;  at  least  the  pleasure,  whatever  it  be, 
must  some  time  have  an  end,  and  we  are  beginning  to  think 
when  we  shall  come  home.  Mr.  Thrale  calculates  that,  as 
we  left  Streatham  on  the  fifteenth  of  September,  we  shall 
see  it  again  about  the  fifteenth  of  November. 

'I  think  I  had  not  been  on  this  side  of  the  sea  five  days 
before  I  found  a  sensible  improvement  in  my  health.  I  ran 
&  race  in  the  rain  this  day,  and  beat  Baretti.    Baretti  is  a 

'  Written  from  a  tour  in  France  with  the  Thrales,  Johnson's  only 
Visit  to  the  Continent. — Ed. 
i  Miss  Thrale. 


1775]  ACCOUNT  OF  FRENCH  TOUR  259 

fine  fellow,  and  speaks  French,  I  think,  quite  as  well  as  Eng- 
lish. 

'Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Williams;  and  give  my 
love  to  Francis;  and  tell  my  friends  that  I  am  not  lost. 
I  am,  dear  Sir,  your  affectionate  humble,  &c. 

'Sam.  Johnson.' 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  he  did  not  write  an  account  of 
his  travels  in  France;  for  as  he  is  reported  to  have  once 
said,  that  'he  could  write  the  Life  of  a  Broomstick,'  so, 
notwithstanding  so  many  former  travellers  have  exhausted 
almost  every  subject  for  remark  in  that  great  kingdom,  his 
very  accurate  observation,  and  peculiar  vigour  of  thought 
and  illustration,  would  have  produced  a  valuable  work. 

When  I  met  him  in  London  the  following  year,  the  ac- 
count which  he  gave  me  of  his  French  tour,  was,  'Sir,  I  have 
seen  all  the  visibilities  of  Paris,  and  around  it;  but  to  have 
formed  an  acquaintance  with  the  people  there,  would  have 
required  more  time  than  I  could  stay.  I  was  just  begin- 
ning to  creep  into  acquaintance  by  means  of  Colonel  Drum- 
gold,  a  very  high  man,  Sir,  head  of  L'Ecole  Militaire,  a  most 
complete  character,  for  he  had  first  been  a  professor  of  rhet- 
orick,  and  then  became  a  soldier.  And,  Sir,  I  was  very  kindly 
treated  by  the  English  Benedictines,  and  have  a  cell  appro- 
priated to  me  in  their  convent.' 

He  observed,  'The  great  in  France  live  very  magnifi- 
cently, but  the  rest  very  miserably.  There  is  no  happy 
middle  state  as  in  England.  The  shops  of  Paris  are  mean; 
the  meat  in  the  markets  is  such  as  would  be  sent  to  a  gaol 
in  England:  and  Mr.  Thrale  justly  observed,  that  the 
cookery  of  the  French  was  forced  upon  them  by  necessity; 
for  they  could  not  eat  their  meat,  unless  they  added  some 
taste  to  it.     The  French  are  an  indelicate  people;  they  will 

spit  upon  any  place.    At  Madame  's,  a  literary 

lady  of  rank,  the  footman  took  the  sugar  in  his  fingers,  and 
threw  it  into  my  coffee.  I  was  going  to  put  it  aside;  but 
hearing  it  was  made  on  purpose  for  me,  I  e'en  tasted  Tom's 
fingers.  The  same  lady  would  needs  make  tea  d  I'Angloise. 
The  spout  of  the  tea-pot  did  not  pour  freely;   she  bad  the 


260  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i775r 

footman  blow  into  it.  France  is  worse  than  Scotland  in 
every  thing  but  climate.  Nature  has  done  more  for  the. 
French;  but  they  have  done  less  for  themselves  than  the 
Scotch  have  done.'  I 

It  happened  that  Foote  was  at  Paris  at  the  same  time 
with  Dr.  Johnson,  and  his  description  of  my  friend  while 
there,  was  abundantly  ludicrous.  He  told  me,  that  the 
French  were  quite  astonished  at  his  figure  and  manner,  and 
at  his  dress,  which  he  obstinately  continued  exactly  as  in 
London; — his  brown  clothes,  black  stockings,  and  plain 
shirt.  He  mentioned,  that  an  Irish  gentleman  said  to  John- 
son, 'Sir,  you  have  not  seen  the  best  French  players.'  John-. 
SON.  'Players,  Sir!  I  look  on  them  as  no  better  than 
creatures  set  upon  tables  and  joint-stools  to  make  faces, 
and  produce  laughter,  like  dancing  dogs.' — 'But,  Sir,  you 
will  allow  that  some  players  are  better  than  others  ? '  John- 
son.    'Yes,  Sir,  as  some  dogs  dance  better  than  others.' 

While  Johnson  was  in  France,  he  was  generally  very 
resolute  in  speaking  Latin.  It  was  a  maxim  with  him  that 
a  man  should  not  let  himself  down,  by  speaking  a  language 
which  he  speaks  imperfectly.  Indeed,  we  must  have  often 
observed  how  inferiour,  how  much  like  a  child  a  man  ap- 
pears, who  speaks  a  broken  tongue.  When  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, at  one  of  the  dinners  of  the  Royal  Academy,  presented 
him  to  a  Frenchman  of  great  distinction,  he  would  not 
deign  to  speak  French,  but  talked  Latin,  though  his  Excel- 
lency did  not  understand  it,  owing,  perhaps,  to  Johnson's 
English  pronunciation:  yet  upon  another  occasion  he  was 
observed  to  speak  French  to  a  Frenchman  of  high  rank, 
who  spoke  English;  and  being  asked  the  reason,  with  some 
expression  of  surprise, — he  answered,  'because  I  think  my 
French  is  as  good  as  his  English.'  Though  Johnson  under- 
stood French  perfectly,  he  could  not  speak  it  readily,  as  I 
have  observed  at  his  first  interview  with  General  Paoli,  in 
1769;  yet  he  wrote  it,  I  imagine,  pretty  well. 

Here  let  me  not  forget  a  curious  anecdote,  as  related  to 
me  by  Mr,  Beauclerk,  which  I  shall  endeavour  to  exhibit 
as  well  as  I  can  in  that  gentleman's  lively  manner;  and  in 
justice  to  him  it  is  proper  to  add,  that  Dr.  Johnson  told  me 


17751  MADAME  DE  BOUFFLERS  261 

I  might  rely  both  on  the  correctness  of  his  memory,  and  the 
fidelity  of  his  narrative.  'When  Madame  de  Boufflers  was 
first  in  England,  (said  Beauclerk,)  she  was  desirous  to  see 
Johnson.  I  accordingly  went  with  her  to  his  chambers  in 
the  Temple,  where  she  was  entertained  with  his  conversa- 
tion for  some  time.  When  our  visit  was  over,  she  and  I 
left  him,  and  were  got  into  Inner  Temple-lane,  when  all  at 
once  I  heard  a  noise  like  thunder.  This  was  occasioned  by 
Johnson,  who  it  seems,  upon  a  little  recollection,  had  taken 
it  into  his  head  that  he  ought  to  have  done  the  honours  of 
his  literary  residence  to  a  foreign  lady  of  quality,  and  eager 
to  shew  himself  a  man  of  gallantry,  was  hurrj'ing  down  the 
stair-case  in  violent  agitation.  He  overtook  us  before  we 
reached  the  Temple-gate,  and  brushing  in  between  me  and 
Madame  de  Boufflers,  seized  her  hand,  and  conducted  her 
to  her  coach.  His  dress  was  a  rusty  brown  morning  suit, 
a  pair  of  old  shoes  by  way  of  slippers,  a  little  shrivelled  wig 
sticking  on  the  top  of  his  head,  and  the  sleeves  of  his  shirt 
and  the  knees  of  his  breeches  hanging  loose.  A  considera- 
ble crowd  of  people  gathered  round,  and  were  not  a  little 
struck  by  this  singular  appearance.' 

He  spoke  Latin  with  wonderful  fluency  and  elegance. 
When  Pere  Boscovich  was  in  England,  Johnson  dined  in 
company  with  him  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's,  and  at  Dr. 
Douglas's,  now  Bishop  of  Salisbury.  Upon  both  occasions 
that  celebrated  foreigner  expressed  his  astonishment  at 
Johnson's  Latin  conversation.  When  at  Paris,  Johnson  thus 
characterised  Voltaire  to  Freron  the  Journalist:  'Kir  est 
acerrimi  ingenii  et  paucarum  literarum.' 

In  the  course  of  this  year  Dr.  Burney  informs  me  that 
'he  very  frequently  met  Dr.  Johnson  at  Mr.  Thrale's,  at 
Streatham,  where  they  had  manj'  long  conversations,  often 
sitting  up  as  long  as  the  fire  and  candles  lasted,  and  much 
longer  than  the  patience  of  the  servants  subsisted.' 

A  few  of  Johnson's  sayings,  which  that  gentleman  recol- 
lects, shall  here  be  inserted. 

'I  never  take  a  nap  after  dinner  but  when  I  have  had  a 
bad  night,  and  then  the  nap  takes  me.' 

'The  writer  of  an  epitaph  should  not  be  considered  as  say- 


262  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1775 

ing  nothing  but  what  is  strictly  true.  Allowance  must  be 
made  for  some  degree  of  exaggerated  praise.  In  lapidary 
inscriptions  a  man  is  not  upon  oath.' 

'There  is  now  less  flogging  in  our  great  schools  than  for- 
merly, but  then  less  is  learned  there;  so  that  what  the  boys 
get  at  one  end  they  lose  at  the  other.' 

'More  is  learned  in  publick  than  in  private  schools,  from 
emulation;  there  is  the  collision  of  mind  with  mind,  or  the 
radiation  of  many  minds  pointing  to  one  centre.  Though 
few  boys  make  their  own  exercises,  yet  if  a  good  exercise 
is  given  up,  out  of  a  great  number  of  boys,  it  is  made  by 
somebody.' 

'I  hate  by-roads  in  education.  Education  is  as  well 
known,  and  has  long  been  as  well  known,  as  ever  it  can  be. 
Endeavouring  to  make  children  prematurely  wise  is  useless 
labour.  Suppose  they  have  more  knowledge  at  five  or  six 
years  old  than  other  children,  what  use  can  be  made  of  it? 
It  will  be  lost  before  it  is  wanted,  and  the  waste  of  so  much 
time  and  labour  of  the  teacher  can  never  be  repaid.  Too 
much  is  expected  from  precocity,  and  too  little  performed. 

Miss was  an  instance  of  early  cultivation,  but  in  what 

did  it  terminate?  In  marrying  a  little  Presbyterian  par- 
son, who  keeps  an  infant  boarding-school,  so  that  all  her 
employment  now  is, 

"To  suckle  fools,  and  chronicle  small-beer." 

She  tells  the  children,  "This  is  a  cat,  and  that  is  a  dog, 
with  four  legs  and  a  tail;  see  there!  you  are  much  better 
than  a  cat  or  a  dog,  for  you  can  speak."  If  I  had  bestowed 
such  an  education  on  a  daughter,  and  had  discovered  that 
she  thought  of  marrying  such  a  fellow,  I  would  have  sent 
her  to  the  Congress.' 

'After  having  talked  slightingly  of  musick,  he  was  ob- 
served to  listen  very  attentively  while  Miss  Thrale  played 
on  the  harpsichord,  and  with  eagerness  he  called  to  her, 
"Why  don't  you  dash  away  like  Burney?"  Dr.  Burney 
upon  this  said  to  him,  "I  believe,  Sir,  we  shall  make  a  mu- 
sician of  you  at  last."    Johnson  with  candid  complacency 


1776]  HOUSE  IN  BOLT-COURT  263 

replied,  "Sir,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  a  new  sense  given  to 
me.'" 

'He  had  come  down  one  morning  to  the  breakfast-room, 
and  been  a  considerable  time  by  himself  before  any  body 
appeared.  When,  on  a  subsequent  day,  he  was  twitted  by 
Mrs.  Thrale  for  being  very  late,  which  he  generally  was,  he 
defended  himself  by  alluding  to  the  extraordinary  morning, 
when  he  had  been  too  early.  "Madame,  I  do  not  like  to 
come  down  to  t;acw%."' 

'Dr.  Bumey  having  remarked  that  Mr.  Garrick  was  be- 
ginning to  look  old,  he  said,  "Why,  Sir,  you  are  not  to 
wonder  at  that;  no  man's  face  has  had  more  wear  and 
tear." ' 

1776:  ^TAT.  67.] — Having  arrived  in  London  late  on  Friday, 
the  15th  of  March,  I  hastened  next  morning  to  wait  on  Dr. 
Johnson,  at  his  house;  but  found  he  was  removed  from  John- 
son's-court,  No.  7,  to  Bolt-court,  No.  8,  still  keeping  to  his 
favourite  Fleet-street.  My  reflection  at  the  time  upon  this 
change  as  marked  in  my  Journal,  is  as  follows:  '  I  felt  a  foolish 
regret  that  he  had  left  a  court  which  bore  his  name*;  but  it 
was  not  foolish  to  be  affected  with  some  tenderness  of  regard 
for  a  place  in  which  I  had  seen  him  a  great  deal,  from  whence 
I  had  often  issued  a  better  and  a  happier  man  than  when 
I  went  in,  and  which  had  often  appeared  to  my  imagination 
while  I  trod  its  pavements,  in  the  solemn  darkness  of  the 
night,  to  be  sacred  to  wisdom  and  piety.'  Being  informed 
that  he  was  at  Mr.  Thrale's,  in  the  Borough,  I  hastened 
thither,  and  found  Mrs.  Thrale  and  him  at  breakfast.  I  was 
kindly  welcomed.  In  a  moment  he  was  in  a  full  glow  of 
conversation,  and  I  felt  myself  elevated  as  if  brought  into 
another  state  of  being.  Mrs.  Thrale  and  I  looked  to  each 
other  while  he  talked,  and  our  looks  expressed  our  congenial 
admiration  and  affection  for  him.  I  shall  ever  recollect  this 
scene  with  great  pleasure.  I  exclaimed  to  her,  'I  am  now, 
intellectually,  Hermipptis  redivivus,  I  am  quite  restored  by 
him,  by  transfusion  of  mind.'     'There  are  many  (she  re- 


'  He  said,  when  In  Scotland,  that  he  was  Johnson  of  that  Ilk. — Bos- 

WBLL. 


•264  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

plied)  who  admire  and  respect  Mr.  Johnson;  but  you  and 
I  love  him.' 

He  seemed  very  happy  in  the  near  prospect  of  going  to 
Italy  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale.  'But,  (said  he,)  before 
leaving  England  I  am  to  take  a  jaunt  to  Oxford,  Birming- 
ham, my  native  city  Lichfield,  and  my  old  friend,  Dr.  Tay- 
lor's, at  Ashbourn,  in  Derbyshire.  I  shall  go  in  a  few  days, 
and  you,  Boswell,  shall  go  with  me.'  I  was  ready  to  accom- 
pany him;  being  willing  even  to  leave  London  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  his  conversation. 

We  got  into  a  boat  to  cross  over  to  Black-friars;  and  as 
we  moved  along  the  Thames,  I  talked  to  him  of  a  little 
volume,  which,  altogether  unknown  to  him,  was  advertised 
to  be  published  in  a  few  days,  under  the  title  of  Johnsoniana, 
or  Bon-Mots  of  Dr.  Johnson.  Johnson.  'Sir,  it  is  a  mighty 
impudent  thing.'  Boswell.  '  Pray,  Sir,  could  you  have  no 
redress  if  you  were  to  prosecute  a  publisher  for  bringing  out, 
under  your  name,  what  you  never  said,  and  ascribing  to 
you  dull  stupid  nonsense,  or  making  you  swear  profanely, 
as  many  ignorant  relaters  of  your  bon-mots  do?'  Johnson. 
*No,  Sir;  there  will  always  be  some  truth  mixed  with  the 
falsehood,  and  how  can  it  be  ascertained  how  much  is  true 
and  how  much  is  false?  Besides,  Sir,  what  damages  would 
a  jury  give  me  for  having  been  represented  as  swearing?' 
Boswell.  'I  think.  Sir,  you  should  at  least  disavow  such 
a  publication,  because  the  world  and  posterity  might  with 
much  plausible  foundation  say,  "Here  is  a  volume  which 
was  publickly  advertised  and  came  out  in  Dr.  Johnson's  own 
time,  and,  by  his  silence,  was  admitted  by  him  to  be  gen- 
uine." '  Johnson.  'I  shall  give  myself  no  trouble  about  the 
matter.' 

He  was,  perhaps,  above  suffering  from  such  spurious  pub- 
lications; but  I  could  not  help  thinking,  that  many  men 
would  be  much  injured  in  their  reputation,  by  having  absurd 
and  vicious  sajdngs  imputed  to  them;  and  that  redress 
•ought  in  such  cases  to  be  given. 

He  said,  'The  value  of  every  story  depends  on  its  being 
true.  A  story  is  a  picture  either  of  an  individual  or  of 
human  nature  in  general:    if  it  be  false,  it  is  a  picture  of 


1776)  VERACITY  265 

nothing.  For  instance:  suppose  a  man  should  tell  that 
Johnson,  before  setting  out  for  Italy,  as  he  had  to  cross  the 
Alps,  sat  down  to  make  himself  wings.  This  many  people 
would  believe;  but  it  would  be  a  picture  of  nothing.  ♦*♦**** 
(naming  a  worthy  friend  of  ours,)  used  to  think  a  story,  a 
story,  till  I  shewed  him  that  truth  was  essential  to  it.'  I 
observed,  that  Foote  entertained  us  with  stories  which  were 
not  true;  but  that,  indeed,  it  was  properly  not  as  narratives 
that  Foote's  stories  pleased  us,  but  as  collections  of  ludicrous 
images.  Johnson.  'Foote  is  quite  impartial,  for  he  tells- 
lies  of  every  body.' 

The  importance  of  strict  and  scrupulous  veracity  cannot 
be  too  often  inculcated.  Johnson  was  known  to  be  sa 
rigidly  attentive  to  it,  that  even  in  his  common  conversation 
the  slightest  circumstance  was  mentioned  with  exact  pre7 
cision.  The  knowledge  of  his  having  such  a  principle  and 
habit  made  his  friends  have  a  perfect  reliance  on  the  truth 
of  every  thing  that  he  told,  howeyer  it  might  have  been 
doubted  if  told  by  many  others.  As  an  instance  of  this,  I 
may  mention  an  odd  incident  which  he  related  as  having 
happened  to  him  one  night  in  Fleet-street.  'A  gentlewoman 
(said  he)  begged  I  would  give  her  my  arm  to  assist  her  ia 
crossing  the  street,  which  I  accordingly  did;  upon  which 
she  offered  me  a  shilling,  supposing  me  to  be  the  watchman. 
I  perceived  that  she  was  somewhat  in  liquor.'  This,  if  told 
by  most  people,  would  have  been  thought  an  invention; 
when  told  by  Johnson,  it  was  believed  by  his  friends  as 
much  as  if  they  had  seen  what  passed. 

We  landed  at  the  Temple-stairs,  where  we  parted. 

I  found  him  in  the  evening  in  Mrs.  Williams's  room. 
Finding  him  still  persevering  in  his  abstinence  from  wine, 
I  ventured  to  speak  to  him  of  it. — Johnson.  'Sir,  1  have  no 
objection  to  a  man's  drinking  wine,  if  he  can  do  it  in  modera- 
tion. I  found  myself  apt  to  go  to  excess  in  it,  and  there- 
fore, after  having  been  for  some  time  without  it,  on  account 
of  illness,  I  thought  it  better  not  to  return  to  it.  Every 
man  is  to  judge  for  himself,  according  to  the  effects  which 
he  experiences.  One  of  the  fathers  tells  us,  he  found  fast- 
ing made  him  so  peevish  that  he  did  not  practise  it.* 


266  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1776 

Though  he  often  enlarged  upon  the  evil  of  intoxication,  he 
was  by  no  means  harsh  and  unforgiving  to  those  who  in- 
dulged in  occasional  excess  in  wine.  One  of  his  friends,  I 
well  remember,  came  to  sup  at  a  tavern  with  him  and  some 
other  gentlemen,  and  too  plainly  discovered  that  he  had 
drunk  too  much  at  dinner.  When  one  who  loved  mischief, 
thinking  to  produce  a  severe  censure,  asked  Johnson,  a  few 
days  afterwards,  'Well,  Sir,  what  did  your  friend  say  to  you, 
as  an  apology  for  being  in  such  a  situation?'  Johnson  an- 
swered, 'Sir,  he  said  all  that  a  man  should  say:  he  said  he 
was  sorry  for  it.' 

I  again  visited  him  on  Monday.  He  took  occasion  to  en- 
large, as  he  often  did,  upon  the  wretchedness  of  a  sea-life. 
'A  ship  is  worse  than  a  gaol.  There  is,  in  a  gaol,  better  air, 
better  company,  better  converuency  of  every  kind;  and  a 
ship  has  the  additional  disadvantage  of  being  in  danger. 
When  men  come  to  like  a  sea-life,  they  are  not  fit  to  Uve  on 
land.'— 'Then  (said  I)  it  would  be  cruel  in  a  father  to  breed 
his  son  to  the  sea.'  Johnson.  '  It  would  be  cruel  in  a  father 
who  thinks  as  I  do.  Men  go  to  sea,  before  they  know  the 
unhappiness  of  that  way  of  life;  and  when  they  have  come 
to  know  it,  they  cannot  escape  from  it,  because  it  is  then  too 
late  to  choose  another  profession;  as  indeed  is  generally 
the  case  with  men,  when  they  have  once  engaged  in  any 
particular  way  of  life.' 

On  Tuesday,  March  19,  which  was  fixed  for  our  proposed 
jaunt,  we  met  in  the  morning  at  the  Somerset  coffee-house  in 
the  Strand,  where  we  were  taken  up  by  the  Oxford  coach. 
He  was  accompanied  by  Mr.  Gwyn,  the  architect;  and  a 
gentleman  of  Merton  College,  whom  we  did  not  know,  had 
the  fourth  seat.  We  soon  got  into  conversation;  for  it  was 
very  remarkable  of  Johnson,  that  the  presence  of  a  stranger 
had  no  restraint  upon  his  talk.  I  observed  that  Garrick, 
who  was  about  to  quit  the  stage,  would  soon  have  an  easier 
life.  Johnson.  'I  doubt  that,  Sir.'  Boswell.  'Why, 
Sir,  he  will  be  Atlas  Avith  the  burthen  off  his  back.'  John- 
son. 'But  I  know  not.  Sir,  if  he  will  be  so  steady  without 
his  load.  However,  he  should  never  play  any  more,  but  be 
■entirely  the  gentleman,  and  not  partly  the  player:  he  should 


17761  MR.  GWYN  THE  ARCHITECT  267 

no  longer  subject  himself  to  be  hissed  by  a  mob,  or  to  be 
insolently  treated  by  performers,  whom  he  used  to  rule 
with  a  high  hand,  and  who  would  gladly  retaliate.'  Bos- 
well.  'I  think  he  should  play  once  a  year  for  the  benefit 
of  decayed  actors,  as  it  has  been  said  he  means  to  do.' 
Johnson.  'Alas,  Sir!  he  will  soon  be  a  decayed  actor 
himself.' 

Johnson  expressed  his  disapprobation  of  ornamental  archi- 
tecture, such  as  magnificent  columns  supporting  a  portico, 
or  expensive  pilasters  supporting  merely  their  own  capitals, 
'because  it  consumes  labour  disproportionate  to  its  utility.' 
For  the  same  reason  he  satyrised  statuary.  'Painting  (said 
he)  consumes  labour  not  disproportionate  to  its  effect;  but 
a  fellow  will  hack  half  a  year  at  a  block  of  marble  to  make 
something  in  stone  that  hardly  resembles  a  man.  The 
value  of  statuary  is  owing  to  its  difficulty.  You  would  not 
value  the  finest  head  cut  upon  a  carrot.' 

Gwyn  was  a  fine  lively  rattling  fellow.  Dr.  Johnson  kept 
him  in  subjection,  but  with  a  kindly  authority.  The  spirit 
of  the  artist,  however,  rose  against  what  he  thought  a  Goth- 
ick  attack,  and  he  made  a  brisk  defence.  'What,  Sir,  will 
you  allow  no  value  to  beauty  in  architecture  or  in  statuary? 
Why  should  we  allow  it  then  in  WTiting?  Why  do  you  take 
the  trouble  to  give  us  so  many  fine  allusions,  and  bright 
images,  and  elegant  phrases?  You  might  convey  all  your 
instruction  without  these  ornaments.'  Johnson  smiled  with 
complacency;  but  said,  'Why,  Sir,  all  these  ornaments  are 
useful,  because  they  obtain  an  easier  reception  for  truth; 
but  a  building  is  not  at  all  more  convenient  for  being  deco- 
rated with  superfluous  carved  work.' 

Gwyn  at  last  was  lucky  enough  to  make  one  reply  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  which  he  allowed  to  be  excellent.  Johnson  cen- 
sured him  for  taking  down  a  church  which  might  have  stood 
many  years,  and  building  a  new  one  at  a  different  place,  for 
no  other  reason  but  that  there  might  be  a  direct  road  to  a 
new  bridge;  and  his  expression  was,  'You  are  taking  a 
church  out  of  the  way,  that  the  people  may  go  in  a  straight 
line  to  the  bridge.' — 'No,  Sir,  (said  Gwjm,)  I  am  putting  the 
church  in  the  way,  that  the  people  may  not  go  out  of  the  way.' 


268  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1776 

Johnson,  (with  a  hearty  loud  laugh  of  approbation,)  'Speak 
no  more.     Rest  your  colloquial  fame  upon  this.' 

Upon  our  arrival  at  Oxford,  Dr.  Johnson  and  I  went 
directly  to  University  College,  but  were  disappointed  on 
finding  that  one  of  the  fellows,  his  friend  Mr.  Scott,  who. 
accompanied  him  from  Newcastle  to  Edinburgh,  was  gone 
to  the  country.  We  put  up  at  the  Angel  inn,  and  passed  the 
evening  by  ourselves  in  easy  and  familiar  conversation. 
Talking  of  constitutional  melancholy,  he  observed,  'A  man 
so  afflicted.  Sir,  must  divert  distressing  thoughts,  and  not 
combat  with  them.'  Boswell.  'May  not  he  think  them 
down,  Sir?'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir.  To  attempt  to  think 
them  down  is  madness.  He  should  have  a  lamp  constantly 
burning  in  his  bed-chamber  during  the  night,  and  if  wake- 
fully  disturbed,  take  a  book,  and  read,  and  compose  himself 
to  rest.  To  have  the  management  of  the  mind  is  a  great 
art,  and  it  may  be  attained  in  a  considerable  degree  by  ex- 
perience and  habitual  exercise.'  Boswell.  'Should  not  he 
provide  amusements  for  himself  ?  Would  it  not,  for  instance, 
be  right  for  him  to  take  a  course  of  chymistry?'  Johnson. 
'Let  him  take  a  course  of  chymistry,  or  a  course  of  rope- 
dancing,  or  a  course  of  any  thing  to  which  he  is  inclined  at 
the  time.  Let  him  contrive  to  have  as  many  retreats  for  his 
mind  as  he  can,  as  many  things  to  which  it  can  fly  from  it- 
self. Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy  is  a  valuable  work. 
It  is,  perhaps,  overloaded  with  quotation.  But  there  is 
great  spirit  and  great  power  in  what  Burton  says,  when  he, 
writes  from  his  own  mind.' 

Next  morning  we  visited  Dr.  Wetherell,  Master  of  Uni- 
versity College,  with  whom  Dr.  Johnson  conferred  on  the 
most  advantageous  mode  of  disposing  of  the  books  printed 
at  the  Clarendon  press.  I  often  had  occasion  to  remark, 
Johnson  loved  business,  loved  to  have  his  wisdom  actually 
operate  on  real  life. 

We  then  went  to  Pembroke  College,  and  waited  on  his  old 
friend  Dr.  Adams,  the  master  of  it,  whom  I  found  to  be  a 
most  polite,  pleasing,  conamunicative  man.  Before  his  ad- 
vancement to  the  headship  of  his  college,  I  had  intended  to 
go  and  visit  him  at  Shrewsbury,  where  he  was  rector  of  St. 


17761  AT  OXFORD  269 

Chad's,  in  order  to  get  from  him  what  particulars  he  could 
recollect  of  Johnson's  academical  life.  He  now  obligingly 
gave  me  part  of  that  authentick  information,  which,  with 
what  I  afterwards  owed  to  his  kindness,  will  be  found  incor- 
porated in  its  proper  place  in  this  work. 

Dr.  Adams  told  us,  that  in  some  of  the  Colleges  at  Oxford, 
the  fellows  had  excluded  the  students  from  social  intercourse 
with  them  in  the  common  room.  Johnson.  'They  are  in 
the  right,  Sir:  there  can  be  no  real  conversation,  no  fair 
exertion  of  mind  amongst  them,  if  the  young  men  are  by; 
for  a  man  who  has  a  character  does  not  choose  to  stake  it  in 
their  presence.'  Boswell.  'But,  Sir,  may  there  not  be 
very  good  conversation  wnthout  a  contest  for  superiority?' 
Johnson.  '  No  animated  conversation.  Sir,  for  it  cannot  be 
but  one  or  other  will  come  off  superiour.  I  do  not  mean 
that  the  victor  must  have  the  better  of  the  argument,  for 
he  may  take  the  weak  side;  but  his  superiority  of  parts  and 
knowledge  will  necessarily  appear:  and  he  to  whom  he  thus 
shews  himself  superiour  is  lessened  in  the  eyes  of  the  young 
men.' 

We  walked  with  Dr.  Adams  into  the  master's  garden,  and 
into  the  common  room.  Johnson,  (after  a  reverie  of  medi- 
tation,) 'Ay!  Here  I  used  to  play  at  draughts  with  Phil. 
Jones  and  Fludyer.  Jones  loved  beer,  and  did  not  get  very 
forward  in  the  church.  Fludyer  turned  out  a  scoundrel,  a 
Whig,  and  said  he  was  ashamed  of  having  been  bred  at 
Oxford.  He  had  a  living  at  Putney,  and  got  under  the  eye 
of  some  retainers  to  the  court  at  that  time,  and  so  became 
a  violent  Whig:  but  he  had  been  a  scoundrel  all  along  to  be 
sure.'  BoswELL.  'Was  he  a  scoundrel,  Sir,  in  any  other 
way  than  that  of  being  a  political  scoundrel  ?  Did  he  cheat 
at  draughts?'    Johnson.     'Sir,  we  never  played  for  money.*' 

He  then  carried*me  to  visit  Dr.  Bentham,  Canon  of  Christ- 
Church,  and  Divinity  Professor,  with  whose  learned  and 
hvely  conversation  we  were  much  pleased.  He  gave  us  an 
invitation  to  dinner,  which  Dr.  Johnson  told  me  was  a  high 
honour.  'Sir,  it  is  a  great  thing  to  dine  with  the  Canons  of 
Christ-Church.'  We  could  not  accept  his  invitation,  as  we 
were  engaged  to  dine  at  University  College.    We  had  an  ex- 


270  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

cellent  dinner  there,  with  the  Master  and  Fellows,  it  being 
St.  Cuthbert's  day,  which  is  kept  by  them  as  a  festival,  as 
he  was  a  saint  of  Durham,  with  which  ihis  college  is  much 
connected. 

We  drank  tea  with  Dr.  Home,  late  President  of  Magdalen 
College,  and  Bishop  of  Norwich,  of  whose  abilities,  in  dif- 
ferent respects,  the  publick  has  had  eminent  proofs,  and  the 
esteem  annexed  to  whose  character  was  increased  by  know- 
ing him  personally. 

We  then  went  to  Trinity  College,  where  he  introduced 
me  to  Mr.  Thomas  Warton,  with  whom  we  passed  a  part 
of  the  evening.  We  talked  of  biography. — ^Johnson.  'It 
is  rarely  well  executed.  They  only  who  live  with  a  man 
can  write  his  life  with  any  genuine  exactness  and  discrimi- 
nation; and  few  people  who  have  lived  with  a  man  know 
what  to  remark  about  him.  The  chaplain  of  a  late  Bishop, 
whom  I  was  to  assist  in  writing  some  memoirs  of  his  Lord- 
ship, could  tell  me  scarcely  any  thing.' 

I  said,  Mr.  Robert  Dodsley's  life  should  be  written,  as  he 
had  been  so  much  connected  with  the  wits  of  his  time,  and 
iby  his  literary  merit  had  raised  himself  from  the  station 
of  a  footman.  Mr.  Warton  said,  he  had  published  a  little 
volume  under  the  title  of  The  Muse  in  Livery.  Johnson. 
'I  doubt  whether  Dodsley's  brother  would  thank  a  man 
who  should  write  his  life:  yet  Dodsley  himself  was  not  un- 
willing that  his  original  low  condition  should  be  recollected. 
When  Lord  Lyttelton's  Dialogices  of  the  Dead  came  out,  one 
of  which  is  between  Apicius,  an  ancient  epicure,  and  Darti- 
neuf,  a  modern  epicure,  Dodsley  said  to  me,  "I  knew  Darti- 
neuf  well,  for  I  was  once  his  footman."' 

I   mentioned   Sir   Richard   Steele   having   published   his 

Christian  Hero,  with  the  avowed  purpose  of  obliging  himself 

to  lead  a  religious  life;    yet,  that  his  conduct  was  by  no 

means  strictly  suitable.    Johnson.     'Steele,  I  believe,  prac- 

.  tised  the  lighter  vices.' 

Mr.  Warton,  being  engaged,  could  not  sup  with  us  at  our 
inn;  we  had  therefore  another  evening  by  ourselves.  I 
asked  Johnson,  whether  a  man's  being  forward  to  make 
himself  known  to  eminent  people,  and  seeing  as  much  of 


17761  BURKE'S  STREAM  OF  MIND  271 

life,  and  getting  as  much  information  as  he  could  in  every 
way,  was  not  yet  lessening  himself  by  his  forwardness. 
Johnson.  'No,  Sir,  a  man  ahva>-s  makes  himself  greater 
as  he  increases  his  knowledge.' 

I  censured  some  ludicrous  fantastick  dialogues  between 
two  coach-horses  and  other  such  stuff,  which  Baretti  had 
lately  published.  He  joined  with  me,  and  said,  'Nothing 
odd  will  do  long.  Tristram  Shandy  did  not  last.'  I  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  be  acquainted  with  a  lady  who  had  been 
much  talked  of,  and  universally  celebrated  for  extraordinary 
address  and  insinuation.  Johnson.  'Never  believe  ex- 
traordinarj'  characters  which  you  hear  of  people.  Depend 
upon  it,  Sir,  they  are  exaggerated.  You  do  not  see  one 
man  shoot  a  great  deal  higher  than  another.'  I  mentioned 
Mr.  Burke.  Johnson.  'Yes;  Burke  is  an  extraordinary 
man.  His  stream  of  mind  is  perp)etual.'  It  is  very  pleas- 
ing to  me  to  record,  that  Johnson's  high  estimation  of  the 
talents  of  this  gentleman  was  uniform  from  their  early  ac- 
quaintance. Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  informs  me,  that  when 
Mr.  Burke  was  first  elected  a  member  of  Parliament,  and 
Sir  John  Hawkins  expressed  a  wonder  at  his  attaining  a 
seat,  Johnson  said,  'Now  we  who  know  Mr.  Burke,  know, 
that  he  will  be  one  of  the  first  men  in  this  country.'  And 
once,  when  Johnson  was  ill,  and  unable  to  exert  himself 
as  much  as  usual  without  fatigue,  Mr.  Burke  having  been 
mentioned,  he  said,  'That  fellow  calls  forth  all  my  powers. 
Were  I  to  see  Burke  now  it;  would  kill  me.'  So  much  was 
he  accustomed  to  consider  conversation  as  a  contest,  and 
such  was  his  notion  of  Burke  as  an  opponent. 

Next  morning,  Thursday,  March  21,  we  set  out  in  a  post- 
chaise  to  pursue  our  ramble.  It  was  a  delightful  day,  and 
we  rode  through  Blenheim  park.  \Mien  I  looked  at  the 
magnificent  bridge  built  by  John  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
over  a  small  rivulet,  and  recollected  the  Epigram  made 
upon  it — 

'  The  lofty  arch  his  high  ambition  shows, 
The  stream,  an  emblem  of  his  bounty  flows:' 

and  saw  that  now,  by  the  genius  of  Brown,  a  magnificent 
body  of  water  was  collected,  I  said,  'They  have  drowned  the 


272  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  fi77ft 

Epigram.'  I  observed  to  him,  while  in  the  midst  of  the 
noble  scene  around  us,  'You  and  I,  Sir,  have,  I  think,  seen 
together  the  extremes  of  what  can  be  seen  in  Britain: —  the 
wild  rough  island  of  Mull,  and  Blenheim  park.' 

We  dined  at  an  excellent  inn  at  Chapel-house,  where  he 
expatiated  on  the  felicity  of  England  in  its  taverns  and  inns, 
and  triumphed  over  the  French  for  not  having,  in  any  per- 
fection, the  tavern  life.  'There  is  no  private  house,  (said 
he,)  in  which  people  can  enjoy  themselves  so  well,  as  at  a 
capital  tavern.  Let  there  be  ever  so  great  plenty  of  good 
things,  ever  so  much  grandeur,  ever  so  much  elegance,  ever 
so  much  desire  that  every  body  should  be  easy;  in  the 
nature  of  things  it  cannot  be:  there  must  always  be  some 
degree  of  care  and  anxiety.  The  master  of  the  house  is 
anxious  to  entertain  his  guests;  the  guests  are  anxious  to 
be  agreeable  to  him:  and  no  man,  but  a  very  impudent  dog 
indeed,  can  as  freely  command  what  is  in  another  man's 
house,  as  if  it  were  his  own.  Whereas,  at  a  tavern,  there 
is  a  general  freedom  from  anxiety.  You  are  sure  you  are 
welcome:  and  the  more  noise  you  make,  the  more  trouble 
you  give,  the  more  good  things  you  call  for,  the  welcomer 
you  are.  No  servants  will  attend  you  with  the  alacrity 
which  waiters  do,  who  are  incited  by  the  prospect  of  an 
immediate  reward  in  proportion  as  they  please.  No,  Sir; 
there  is  nothing  which  has  yet  been  contrived  by  man,  by 
which  so  much  happiness  is  produced  as  by  a  good  tavern 
or  inn.' '  He  then  repeated,  with  great  emotion,  Shenstone's 
lines : — 

'Whoe'er  has  travell'd  life's  dull  round, 
Where'er  his  stages  may  have  been, 
May  sigh  to  think  he  still  has  found 
The  warmest  welcome  at  an  inn.' 


•  Sir  John  Hawkins  has  preserved  very  few  Memorabilia  of  Johnson. 
There  is,  however,  to  be  found,  in  his  bulky  tome  [p.  87],  a  very  excellent 
one  upon  this  subject : — '  In  contradiction  to  those,  who,  having  a  wife 
and  children,  prefer  domestick  enjoyments  to  those  which  a  tavern 
affords,  I  have  heard  him  assert,  that  a  tavern  chair  was  the  throne  of 
human  felicity. — "As  soon,"  said  he,  "as  I  enter  the  door  of  a  tavern, 
I  experience  an  oblivion  of  care,  and  a  freedom  from  solicitude:   when 


17791  DYER'S  FLEECE  273 

In  the  afternoon,  as  we  were  driven  rapidly  along  in  the 
post-chaise,  he  said  to  me  'Life  has  not  many  things  better 
than  this.' 

We  stopped  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  and  drank  tea  and 
coffee;  and  it  pleased  me  to  be  with  him  upon  the  classick 
ground  of  Shakspeare's  native  place. 

He  spoke  slightingly  of  Dyer's  Fleece. — 'The  subject.  Sir, 
cannot  be  made  poetical.  How  can  a  man  write  poetically 
of  serges  and  druggets?  Yet  you  will  hear  many  people 
talk  to  you  gravely  of  that  excellent  poem.  The  Fleece.' 
Having  talked  of  Grainger's  Sugar-Cane,  I  mentioned  to  him 
Mr.  Langton's  having  told  me,  that  this  poem,  when  read 
in  manuscript  at  Sir  Joshua  Rejaiolds's,  had  made  all  the 
assembled  wits  burst  into  a  laugh,  when,  after  much  blank- 
verse  pomp,  the  poet  began  a  new  paragraph  thus: — 

'  Now,  Muse,  let's  sing  of  rats.' 

And  what  increased  the  ridicule  was,  that  one  of  the  com- 
pany, who  slily  overlooked  the  reader,  perceived  that  the 
word  had  been  originally  mice,  and  had  been  altered  to  rats, 
as  more  dignified. 

Johnson  said,  that  Dr.  Grainger  was  an  agreeable  man; 
a  man  who  would  do  any  good  that  was  in  his  power.  His 
translation  of  TihvUus,  he  thought,  was  very  well  done; 
but  The  Sugar-Cane,  a  poem,  did  not  please  him;  for,  he 
exclaimed,  'What  could  he  make  of  a  sugar-cane?  One 
might  as  well  write  the  "Parsley-bed,  a  Poem;"  or  "The 
Cabbage-garden,  a  Poem.'"  Boswell.  'You  must  then 
pickle  your  cabbage  with  the  sal  aUicum.'  Johnson.  'You 
know  there  is  already  The  Hop-Garden,  a  Poem:  and,  I 
think,  one  could  say  a  great  deal  about  cabbage.  The  poem 
might  begin  with  the  advantages  of  civilized  society  over  a 
rude  state,  exemplified  by  the  Scotch,  who  had  no  cabbages 

I  am  seated,  I  find  the  master  courteous,  and  the  servants  obsequious  to 
my  call:  anxious  to  Icnow  and  ready  to  supply  my  wants:  wine  there 
exhilarates  my  spirits,  and  prompts  me  to  free  conversation  and  an 
interchange  of  discourse  with  those  whom  I  most  love:  I  dogmatise 
and  am  contradicted,  and  in  this  conflict  of  opinions  and  sentiments 
I  find  delight.'" — Boswell. 


274  LIFE   OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [1776 

till  Oliver  Cromwell's  soldiers  introduced  them;  and  one 
might  thus  shew  how  arts  are  propagated  by  conquest,  as 
they  were  by  the  Roman  arms.'  He  seemed  to  be  much 
diverted  with  the  fertility  of  his  own  fancy. 

I  told  him,  that  I  heard  Dr.  Percy  was  writing  the  history 
of  the  wolf  in  Great-Britain.  Johnson.  'The  wolf.  Sir! 
why  the  wolf?  Why  does  he  not  write  of  the  bear,  which 
we  had  formerly?  Nay,  it  is  said  we  had  the  beaver.  Or 
why  does  he  not  write  of  the  grey  rat,  the  Hanover  rat,  as 
it  is  called,  because  it  is  said  to  have  come  into  this  country 
about  the  time  that  the  family  of  Hanover  came?  I  should 
like  to  see  The  History  of  the  Grey  Rat,  by  Thomas  Percy, 
D.D.,  Chaplain  in  Ordinary  to  His  Majesty,'  (laughing  im- 
moderately). BoswELL.  'I  am  afraid  a  court  chaplain 
could  not  decently  write  of  the  grey  rat.'  Johnson.  'Sir, 
he  need  not  give  it  the  name  of  the  Hanover  rat.'  Thus 
could  he  indulge  a  luxuriant  sportive  imagination,  when 
talking  of  a  friend  whom  he  loved  and  esteemed. 

On  Friday,  March  22,  having  set  out  early  from  Henley, 
where  we  had  lain  the  preceding  night,  we  arrived  at  Bir- 
mingham about  nine  o'clock,  and,  after  breakfast,  went  to 
call  on  his  old  schoolfellow  Mr.  Hector.  A  very  stupid 
maid,  who  opened  the  door,  told  us,  that  'her  master  was 
gone  out;  he  was  gone  to  the  country;  she  could  not  tell 
when  he  would  return.'  In  short,  she  gave  us  a  miserable 
reception;  and  Johnson  observed,  'She  would  have  be- 
haved no  better  to  people  who  wanted  him  in  the  way  of 
his  profession.'  He  said  to  her,  'My  name  is  Johnson; 
tell  him  I  called.  Will  you  remember  the  name?'  She 
answered  with  rustick  simplicity,  in  the  Warwickshire  pro- 
nunciation, 'I  don't  understand  you,  Sir.' — 'Blockhead, 
(said  he,)  I'll  write.'  I  never  heard  the  word  blockhead 
applied  to  a  woman  before,  though  I  do  not  see  why  it 
should  not,  when  there  is  evident  occasion  for  it.  He,  how- 
ever, made  another  attempt  to  make  her  understand  him, . 
and  roared  loud  in  her  ear,  'Johnson,'  and  then  she  catched 
the  sound. 

We  next  called  on  Mr.  Lloyd,  one  of  the  people  called 
Quakers.     He  too  was  not  at  home;   but  Mrs.  Lloyd  was, 


17761  AT  BIRMINGHAM  275 

and  received  us  courteously,  and  asked  us  to  dinner.  John- 
son said  to  me,  'After  the  uncertainty  of  all  human  things 
at  Hector's,  this  invitation  came  very  well.'  We  walked 
about  the  town,  and  he  was  pleased  to  see  it  increasing. 

Mr.  Lloyd  joined  us  in  the  street;  and  in  a  little  while 
we  met  Friend  Hector,  as  Mr.  Lloyd  called  him.  It  gave 
me  pleasure  to  observe  the  joy  which  Johnson  and  he  ex- 
pressed on  seeing  each  other  again.  Mr.  Lloyd  and  I  left 
them  together,  while  he  obligingly  shewed  me  some  of  the 
manufactures  of  this  very  curious  assemblage  of  artificers. 
We  all  met  at  dinner  at  Mr.  Lloyd's,  where  we  were  enter- 
tained with  great  hospitality.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lloyd  had 
been  married  the  same  year  with  their  Majesties,  and  Uke 
them,  had  been  blessed  with  a  numerous  family  of  fine 
children,  their  numbers  being  exactly  the  same.  Johnson 
said,  'Marriage  is  the  best  state  for  a  man  in  general;  and 
everj'  man  is  a  worse  man,  in  proportion  as  he  is  unfit  for 
the  married  state.' 

Dr.  Johnson  said  to  me  in  the  morning,  'You  will  see, 
Sir,  at  Mr.  Hector's,  his  sister,  Mrs.  Careless,  a  clergyman's 
widow.  She  was  the  first  woman  with  whom  I  was  in  love. 
It  dropt  out  of  my  head  imperceptibly;  but  she  and  I  shall 
always  have  a  kindness  for  each  other.'  He  laughed  at  the 
notion  that  a  man  never  can  be  really  in  love  but  once,  and 
considered  it  as  a  mere  romantick  fancy. 

On  our  return  from  Mr.  Bolton's,  Mr.  Hector  took  me  to 
his  house,  where  we  found  Johnson  sitting  placidly  at  tea, 
with  his  jirsi  love;  who,  though  now  advanced  in  years,  was 
a  genteel  woman,  very  agreeable,  and  well-bred. 

Johnson  lamented  to  Mr.  Hector  the  state  of  one  of  their 
school-fellows,  Mr.  Charles  Congreve,  a  clergyman,  which 
he  thus  described:  'He  obtained,  I  believe,  considerable 
preferment  in  Ireland,  but  now  lives  in  London,  quite  as 
a  valetudinarian,  afraid  to  go  into  any  house  but  his  own. 
He  takes  a  short  airing  in  his  post-chaise  every  day.  He 
has  an  elderly  woman,  whom  he  calls  cousin,  who  lives  with 
him,  and  jogs  his  elbow  when  his  glass  has  stood  too  long 
empty,  and  encourages  him  in  drinking,  in  which  he  is  very 
willing  to  be  encouraged;   not  that  he  gets  drunk,  for  he  is 


276  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

£L  very  pious  man,  but  he  is  always  muddy.  He  confesses 
to  one  bottle  of  port  every  day,  and  he  probably  drinks 
imore.  He  is  quite  unsocial;  his  conversation  is  quite  mono- 
syllabical:  and  when,  at  my  last  visit,  I  asked  him  what  a 
«cloek  it  was?  that  signal  of  my  departure  had  so  pleasing 
an  effect  on  him,  that  he  sprung  up  to  look  at  his  watch, 
like  a  greyhound  bounding  at  a  hare.'  When  Johnson  took 
leave  of  Mr.  Hector,  he  said,  'Don't  grow  like  Congreve; 
nor  let  me  grow  like  him,  when  you  are  near  me.' 

When  he  again  talked  of  Mrs.  Careless  to-night,  he  seemed 
to  have  had  his  affection  revived;  for  he  said,  'If  I  had 
married  her,  it  might  have  been  as  happy  for  me.'  Boswell. 
'Pray,  Sir,  do  you  not  suppose  that  there  are  fifty  women 
in  the  world,  with  any  one  of  whom  a  man  may  be  as  happy, 
as  with  any  one  woman  in  particular?'  Johnson.  'Ay, 
iSir,  fifty  thousand.'  Boswell.  'Then,  Sir,  you  are  not 
of  opinion  with  some  who  imagine  that  certain  men  and  cer- 
tain women  are  made  for  each  other;  and  that  they  cannot 
be  happy  if  they  miss  their  counterparts?'  Johnson. 
■"To  be  sure  not.  Sir.  I  believe  marriages  would  in  general 
be  as  happy,  and  often  more  so,  if  they  were  all  made  by  the 
Lord  Chancellor,  upon  a  due  consideration  of  characters 
and  circumstances,  without  the  parties  having  any  choice 
iu  the  matter.'  ^ 

I  wished  to  have  staid  at  Birmingham  to-night,  to  have 
talked  more  with  Mr.  Hector;  but  my  friend  was  impatient 
to  reach  his  native  city;  so  we  drove  on  that  stage  in  the 
dark,  and  were  long  pensive  and  silent.  When  we  came 
within  the  focus  of  the  Lichfield  lamps,  'Now  (said  he,)  we 
are  getting  out  of  a  state  of  death.'  We  put  up  at  the  Three 
Crowns,  not  one  of  the  great  inns,  but  a  good  old  fashioned 
one,  which  was  kept  by  Mr.  Wilkins,  and  was  the  very  next 
house  to  that  in  which  Johnson  was  born  and  brought  up, 
:and  which  was  still  his  own  property.  We  had  a  com- 
fortable supper,  and  got  into  high  spirits.  I  felt  all  my 
Toryism  glow  in  this  old  capital  of  Staffordshire.  I  could 
have  offered  incense  genio  loci;  and  I  indulged  in  libations 
of  that  ale,  which  Boniface,  in  The  Beaux  Stratagem,  recom- 
mends with  such  an  eloquent  jollity. 


1776]  PETER  GARRICK  277 

Next  morning  he  introduced  me  to  Mrs.  Lucy  Porter,  his 
step-daughter.  She  was  now  an  old  maid,  with  much  sim- 
pUcity  of  manner.  She  had  never  been  in  London.  Her 
brother,  a  Captain  in  the  navy,  had  left  her  a  fortune  of 
ten  thousand  pounds;  about  a  third  of  which  she  had  laid 
out  in  building  a  stately  house,  and  making  a  handsome 
garden,  in  an  elevated  situation  in  Lichfield.  Johnson, 
when  here  by  himself,  used  to  live  at  her  house.  She  rever- 
enced him,  and  he  had  a  parental  tenderness  for  her. 

We  then  visited  Mr.  Peter  Garrick,  who  had  that  morning 
received  a  letter  from  his  brother  David,  announcing  our 
coming  to  Lichfield.  He  was  engaged  to  dinner,  but  asked 
us  to  tea,  and  to  sleep  at  his  house.  Johnson,  however, 
would  not  quit  his  old  acquaintance  Wilkins,  of  the  Three 
Crowns.  The  family  likeness  of  the  Garricks  was  very 
striking;  and  Johnson  thought  that  David's  vivacity  was 
not  so  peculiar  to  himself  as  was  supposed.  'Sir,  (said  he,) 
I  don't  know  but  if  Peter  had  cultivated  all  the  arts  of  gaiety 
as  much  as  David  has  done,  he  might  have  been  as  brisk  and 
lively.  Depend  upon  it.  Sir,  vivacity  is  much  an  art,  and 
depends  greatly  on  habit.'  I  believe  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
truth  in  this,  notwithstanding  a  ludicrous  story  told  me  by 
a  lady  abroad,  of  a  heavy  German  baron,  who  had  lived  much 
with  the  young  English  at  Geneva,  and  was  ambitious  to  be 
as  lively  as  they;  with  which  view,  he,  with  assiduous  exer- 
tion, was  jumping  over  the  tables  and  chairs  in  his  lodgings; 
and  when  the  people  of  the  house  ran  in  and  asked,  with 
surprize,  what  was  the  matter,  he  answered,  'Sh'  apprens 
t'etrefif: 

We  dined  at  our  inn,  and  had  with  us  a  Mr.  Jackson,  one. 
of  Johnson's  schoolfellows,  whom  he  treated  with  much^ 
kindness,  though  he  seemed  to  be  a  low  man,  dull  and  un- 
taught. He  had  a  coarse  grey  coat,  black  waistcoat,  greasy 
leather  breeches,  and  a  yellow  uncurled  wig;  and  his  coun- 
tenance had  the  ruddiness  which  betokens  one  who  is  in  no 
haste  to  'leave  his  can.'  He  drank  only  ale.  He  had  tried 
to  be  a  cutler  at  Birmingham,  but  had  not  succeeded;  and 
now  he  lived  poorly  at  home,  and  had  some  scheme  of  dress- 
ing leather  in  a  better  manner  than  common;  to  his  india- 


278  LIFE   OF   DR.   JOHNSON  [i776 

tinct  account  of  which,  Dr.  Johnson  listened  with  patient 
attention,  that  he  might  assist  him  with  his  advice.  Here 
was  an  instance  of  genuine  humanity  and  real  kindness  in 
this  great  man,  who  has  been  most  unjustly  represented  as 
altogether  harsh  and  destitute  of  tenderness.  A  thousand 
such  instances  might  have  been  recorded  in  the  course  of 
his  long  life;  though  that  his  temijer  was  warm  and  hasty, 
and  his  manner  often  rough,  cannot  be  denied. 

I  saw  here,  for  the  first  time,  oat  ale;  and  oat  cakes  not 
hard  as  in  Scotland,  but  soft  like  a  Yorkshire  cake,  were 
served  at  breakfast.  It  was  pleasant  to  me  to  find,  that 
Oats,  the  food  of  horses,  were  so  much  used  as  the  food  of 
the  people  in  Dr.  Johnson's  own  town.  He  expatiated  in 
praise  of  Lichfield  and  its  inhabitants,  who,  he  said,  were 
^the  most  sober,  decent  people  in  England,  the  genteelest 
in  proportion  to  their  wealth,  and  spoke  the  purest  English.' 
I  doubted  as  to  the  last  article  of  this  eulogy:  for  they  had 
several  provincial  sounds;  as  there,  pronounced  like  fear, 
instead  of  like  fair;  once  pronounced  woonse,  instead  of 
wunse,  or  wonse.  Johnson  himself  never  got  entirely  free 
of  those  provincial  accents.  Garrick  sometimes  used  to 
take  him  off,  squeezing  a  lemon  into  a  punch-bowl,  with 
uncouth  gesticulations,  looking  round  the  company,  and 
calling  out,  '  Who's  for  poonsh  ? ' 

Very  little  business  appeared  to  be  going  forward  in  Lich- 
field. I  found  however  two  strange  manufactures  for  so 
inland  a  place,  sail-cloth  and  streamers  for  ships;  and  I 
observed  them  making  some  saddle-cloths,  and  dressing 
sheepskins:  but  upon  the  whole,  the  busy  hand  of  industry 
seemed  to  be  quite  slackened.  'Surely,  Sir,  (said  I,)  you 
rare  an  idle  set  of  people.'  'Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  we  are  a 
■city  of  philosophers,  we  work  with  our  heads,  and  make  the 
boobies  of  Birmingham  work  for  us  with  their  hands.' 

There  was  at  this  time  a  company  of  players  performing 
at  Lichfield.  The  manager,  Mr.  Stanton,  sent  his  compli- 
ments, and  begged  leave  to  wait  on  Dr.  Johnson.  Johnson 
received  him  very  courteously,  and  he  drank  a  glass  of  wine 
with  us.  He  was  a  plain  decent  well-behaved  man,  and 
expressed  his  gratitude  to  Dr.  Johnson  for  having  once  got 


1776]  MR.  GREEN'S  MUSEUM  279 

him  permission  from  Dr.  Taylor  at  Ashbourne  to  play  there 
upon  moderate  terms.  Garrick's  name  was  soon  intro- 
duced. Johnson.  'Garrick's  conversation  is  gay  and  gro- 
tesque. It  is  a  dish  of  all  sorts,  but  all  good  things.  There 
is  no  solid  meat  in  it:  there  is  a  want  of  sentiment  in  it. 
Not  but  that  he  has  sentiment  sometimes,  and  sentiment, 
too,  very  powerful  and  very  pleasing:  but  it  has  not  its  full 
proportion  in  his  conversation.' 

When  we  were  by  ourselves  he  told  me,  *  Forty  years  ago, 
Sir,  I  was  in  love  with  an  actress  here,  Mrs.  Emmet,  who 
acted  Flora,  in  Ho6  in  the  Well.'  WTiat  merit  this  lady 
had  as  an  actress,  or  what  was  her  figure,  or  her  manner, 
I  have  not  been  informed:  but,  if  we  may  believe  Mr.  Gar- 
rick,  his  old  master's  taste  in  theatrical  merit  was  by  no 
means  refined;  he  was  not  an  elegans  formarum  spectator. 
Garrick  used  to  tell,  that  Johnson  said  of  an  actor,  who  played 
Sir  Harry  Wildair  at  Lichfield,  'There  is  a  courtly  vivacity 
about  the  fellow;'  when  in  fact,  according  to  Garrick's  ac- 
count, 'he  was  the  most  vulgar  ruffian  that  ev^r  went  upon 
boards.' 

We  had  promised  Mr.  Stanton  to  be  at  his  theatre  on 
Monday.  Dr.  Johnson  jocularly  proposed  me  to  write  a 
Prologue  for  the  occasion:  'A  Prologue,  by  James  Boswell, 
Esq.  from  the  Hebrides.'  I  was  really  inclined  to  take  the 
hint.  Methought,  'Prologue,  spoken  before  Dr.  Samuel 
Johnson,  at  Lichfield,  1776;'  would  have  sounded  as  well 
as,  'Prologue,  spoken  before  the  Duke  of  York,  at  Oxford,' 
in  Charles  the  Second's  time.  Much  might  have  been  said 
of  what  Lichfield  had  done  for  Shakspeare,  by  producing 
Johnson  and  Garrick.     But  I  found  he  was  averse  to  it. 

We  went  and  viewed  the  museum  of  Mr.  Richard  Green, 
apothecary  here,  who  told  me  he  was  proud  of  being  a  rela- 
tion of  Dr.  Johnson's.  It  was,  truely,  a  wonderful  collec- 
tion, both  of  antiquities  and  natural  curiosities,  and  ingeni- 
ous works  of  art.  He  had  all  the  articles  accurately  arranged, 
with  their  names  upon  labels,  printed  at  his  own  little  press; 
and  on  the  staircase  leading  to  it  was  a  board,  with  the 
names  of  contributors  marked  in  gold  letters.  A  printed 
catalogue  of  the  collection  was  to  be  had  at  a  bookseller's. 


280  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  11776 

Johnson  expressed  his  admiration  of  the  activity  and  dili- 
gence and  good  fortune  of  Mr.  Green,  in  getting  together, 
in  his  situation,  so  great  a  variety  of  things;  and  Mr.  Green 
told  me  that  Johnson  once  said  to  him,  'Sir,  I  should  as 
soon  have  thought  of  building  a  man  of  war,  as  of  collect- 
ing such  a  museum.'  Mr.  Green's  obliging  alacrity  in  shew- 
ing it  was  very  pleasing. 

We  drank  tea  and  coffee  at  Mr.  Peter  Garrick's,  where 
was  Mrs.  Aston,  one  of  the  maiden  sisters  of  Mrs.  Walms- 
ley,  wife  of  Johnson's  first  friend,  and  sister  also  of  the  lady 
of  whom  Johnson  used  to  speak  with  the  warmest  admira- 
tion, by  the  name  of  Molly  Aston,  who  was  afterwards 
married  to  Captain  Brodie  of  the  navy. 

On  Sunday,  March  24,  we  breakfasted  with  Mrs.  Cobb, 
a  widow  lady,  who  lived  in  an  agreeable  sequestered  place 
close  by  the  town,  called  the  Friary,  it  having  been  for- 
merly a  religious  house.  She  and  her  niece,  Miss  Adey, 
were  great  admirers  of  Dr.  Johnson;  and  he  behaved  to 
them  with  b,  kindness  and  easy  pleasantry,  such  as  we  see 
between  old  and  intimate  acquaintance.  He  accompanied 
Mrs.  Cobb  to  St.  Mary's  church,  and  I  went  to  the  cathe- 
dral, where  I  was  very  much  delighted  with  the  musick, 
finding  it  to  be  peculiarly  solemn  and  accordant  with  the 
words  of  the  service. 

We  dined  at  Mr.  Peter  Garrick's,  who  was  in  a  very  lively 
humour,  and  verified  Johnson's  saying,  that  if  he  had  culti- 
vated gaiety  as  much  as  his  brother  David,  he  might  have 
equally  excelled  in  it.  He  was  to-day  quite  a  London  nar- 
rator, telling  us  a  variety  of  anecdotes  with  that  earnest- 
ness and  attempt  at  mimicry  which  we  usually  find  in  the 
wits  of  the  metropolis.  Dr.  Johnson  went  with  me  to  the 
cathedral  in  the  afternoon.  It  was  grand  and  pleasing  to 
contemplate  this  illustrious  writer,  now  full  of  fame,  wor- 
shipping in  the  'solemn  temple'  of  his  native  city. 

I  returned  to  tea  and  coffee  at  Mr.  Peter  Garrick's,  and 
then  found  Dr.  Johnson  at  the  Reverend  Mr.  Seward's, 
Canon  Residentiary,  who  inhabited  the  Bishop's  palace,  in 
which  Mr.  Walmsley  lived,  and  which  had  been  the  scene  of 
many  happy  hours  in  Johnson's  early  life. 


17761  DEATH  OF  MR.  THRALE'S  SON  281 

On  Monday,  March  25,  we  breakfasted  at  Mrs.  Lucy 
Porter's.  Johnson  had  sent  an  express  to  Dr.  Taylor's, 
acquainting  him  of  our  being  at  Lichfield,  and  Taylor  had 
returned  an  answer  that  his  postchaise  should  come  for  us 
this  day.  While  we  sat  at  breakfast.  Dr.  Johnson  received 
a  letter  by  the  post,  which  seemed  to  agitate  him  very  much. 
When  he  had  read  it,  he  exclaimed,  '  One  of  the  most  dread- 
ful things  that  has  happened  in  my  time.'  The  phrase  my 
time,  like  the  word  age,  is  usually  understood  to  refer  to  an 
event  of  a  publick  or  general  nature.  I  imagined  something 
Uke  an  assassination  of  the  King — like  a  gunpowder  plot 
carried  into  execution — or  like  another  fire  of  London.  When 
asked,  'What  is  it,  Sir?'  he  answered,  'Mr.  Thrale  has  lost 
his  only  son!'  This  was,  no  doubt,  a  very  great  affliction 
to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  which  their  friends  would  consider 
accordingly;  but  from  the  manner  in  which  the  intelligence 
of  it  was  communicated  by  Johnson,  it  appeared  for  the 
moment  to  be  comparatively  small.  I,  however,  soon  felt 
a  sincere  concern,  and  was  curious  to  observe,  how  Dr.  John- 
son would  be  affected.  He  said,  'This  is  a  total  extinction 
to  their  family,  as  much  as  if  they  were  sold  into  captiv- 
ity.' Upon  my  mentioning  that  Mr.  Thrale  had  daughters, 
who  might  inherit  his  wealth; — 'Daughters,  (said  Johnson, 
warmly,)  he'll  no  more  value  his  daughters  than — '  I  was 
going  to  speak. — 'Sir,  (said  he,)  don't  you  know  how  you 
yourself  think?  Sir,  he  wishes  to  propagate  his  name.'  In 
short,  I  saw  male  succession  strong  in  his  mind,  even  where 
there  was  no  name,  no  family  of  any  long  standing.  I  said, 
it  was  lucky  he  was  not  present  when  this  misfortune  hap- 
pened. Johnson.  '  It  is  lucky  for  tne.  People  in  distress 
never  think  that  you  feel  enough.'  Boswell.  'And  Sir, 
they  will  have  the  hope  of  seeing  you,  which  will  be  a  relief 
in  the  mean  time;  and  when  you  get  to  them,  the  pain  will 
be  so  far  abated,  that  they  will  be  capable  of  being  consoled 
by  you,  which,  in  the  first  violence  of  it,  I  believe,  would  not 
be  the  case.'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir;  violent  pain  of  mind, 
like  violent  pain  of  body,  must  be  severely  felt.'  Boswell. 
*I  own.  Sir,  I  have  not  so  much  feeling  for  the  distress  of 
others,  as  some  people  have,  or  pretend  to  have:  but  I  know 


282  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i77« 

this,  that  I  would  do  all  in  my  power  to  relieve  them.'  John- 
son. 'Sir,  it  is  affectation  to  pretend  to  feel  the  distress  of 
others,  as  much  as  they  do  themselves.  It  is  equally  so,  as 
if  one  should  pretend  to  feel  as  much  pain  while  a  friend's 
leg  is  cutting  off,  as  he  does.  No,  Sir;  you  have  expressed 
the  rational  and  just  nature  of  sympathy.  I  would  have 
gone  to  the  extremity  of  the  earth  to  have  preserved  this 
boy.' 

He  was  soon  quite  calm.  The  letter  was  from  Mr.  Thrale's 
clerk,  and  concluded,  'I  need  not  say  how  much  they  wish 
to  see  you  in  London.'  He  said,  'We  shall  hasten  back 
from  Taylor's.' 

Mrs.  Lucy  Porter  and  some  other  ladies  of  the  place  talked 
a  great  deal  of  him  when  he  was  out  of  the  room,  not  only 
with  veneration  but  affection.  It  pleased  me  to  find  that  he 
was  so  much  beloved  in  his  native  city. 

Mrs.  Aston,  whom  I  had  seen  the  preceding  night,  and  her 
sister,  Mrs.  Gastrel,  a  widow  lady,  had  each  a  house  and 
garden,  and  pleasure-ground,  prettily  situated  upon  Stow- 
hill,  a  gentle  eminence,  adjoining  to  Lichfield.  Johnson 
walked  away  to  dinner  there,  leaving  me  by  myself  without 
any  apology;  I  wondered  at  this  want  of  that  facility  of 
manners,  from  which  a  man  has  no  difficulty  in  carrjdng  a 
friend  to  a  house  where  he  is  intimate;  I  felt  it  very  un- 
pleasant to  be  thus  left  in  solitude  in  a  country  town,  where 
I  was  an  entire  stranger,  and  began  to  think  myself  unkindly 
deserted;  but  I  was  soon  relieved,  and  convinced  that  my 
friend,  instead  of  being  deficient  in  delicacy,  had  conducted 
the  matter  with  perfect  propriety,  for  I  received  the  following 
note  in  his  handwriting:  'Mrs.  Gastrel,  at  the  lower  house 
on  Stowhill,  desires  Mr.  Boswell's  company  to  dinner  at 
two.'  I  accepted  of  the  invitation,  and  had  here  another 
proof  how  amiable  his  character  was  in  the  opinion  of  those 
who  knew  him  best.  I  was  not  informed,  till  afterwards, 
that  Mrs.  Gastrel's  husband  was  the  clergyman  who,  while 
he  lived  at  Stratford  upon  Avon,  where  he  was  proprietor  of 
Shakspeare's  garden,  with  Gothick  barbarity  cut  down  his 
mulberry-tree,  and,  as  Dr.  Johnson  told  me,  did  it  to  vex  his 
neighbours.     His  lady,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  on  the  same 


17761  AT  THE  PLAY  283 

authority,  participated  in  the  guilt  of  what  the  enthusiasts 
for  our  immortal  bard  deem  almost  a  species  of  sacrilege. 

After  dinner  Dr.  Johnson  wrote  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Thrale  on 
the  death  of  her  son,  I  said  it  would  be  very  distressing  to 
Thrale,  but  she  would  soon  forget  it,  as  she  had  so  many 
things  to  think  of.  Johnson.  'No,  Sir,  Thrale  will  forget 
it  first.  She  has  many  things  that  she  may  think  of.  He 
has  many  things  that  he  must  think  of.'  This  was  a  very 
just  remark  upon  the  different  efifect  of  those  light  pursuits 
which  occupy  a  vacant  and  easy  mind,  and  those  serious 
engagements  which  arrest  attention,  and  keep  us  from  brood- 
ing over  grief. 

In  the  evening  we  went  to  the  Town-hall,  which  was  con- 
verted into  a  temporary  theatre,  and  saw  Theodosius,  with 
The  Stratford  Jubilee.  I  was  happy  to  see  Dr.  Johnson  sit- 
ting in  a  conspicuous  part  of  the  pit,  and  receiving  affec- 
tionate homage  from  all  his  acquaintance.  We  were  quite 
gay  and  merry.  I  afterwards  mentioned  to  him  that  I  con- 
denmed  myself  for  being  so,  when  poor  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale 
were  in  such  distress.  Johnson.  'You  are  wrong.  Sir; 
twenty  years  hence  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale  will  not  suffer  much 
pain  from  the  death  of  their  son.  Now,  Sir,  you  are  to  con- 
sider, that  distance  of  place,  as  well  as  distance  of  time, 
operates  upon  the  human  feelings.  I  would  not  have  you 
be  gay  in  the  presence  of  the  distressed,  because  it  would 
shock  them;  but  j^ou  may  be  gay  at  a  distance.  Pain  for 
the  loss  of  a  friend,  or  of  a  relation  whom  we  love,  is  occa- 
sioned by  the  want  which  we  feel.  In  time  the  vacuity  is 
filled  with  something  else;  or  sometimes  the  vacuity  closes 
up  of  itself.' 

Mr.  Seward  and  Mr.  Pearson,  another  clergyman  here, 
supt  with  us  at  our  inn,  and  after  they  left  us,  we  sat  up 
late  as  we  used  to  do  in  London. 

Here  I  shall  record  some  fragments  of  my  friend's  conver- 
sation during  this  jaunt. 

'Marriage,  Sir,  is  much  more  necessary  to  a  man  than  to 
a  woman;  for  he  is  much  less  able  to  supply  himself  with 
domestick  comforts.  You  will  recollect  my  saying  to  some 
ladies  the  other  day,  that  I  had  often  wondered  why  young 


284  LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [1776 

women  should  marry,  as  they  have  so  much  more  freedom, 
and  so  much  more  attention  paid  to  them  while  unmarried, 
than  when  married.  I  indeed  did  not  mention  the  strong 
reason  for  their  marrying — the  mechanical  reason.'  Bos- 
well.  'Why,  that  is  a  strong  one.  But  does  not  imagina- 
tion make  it  much  more  important  than  it  is  in  reality? 
Is  it  not,  to  a  certain  degree,  a  delusion  in  us  as  well  as  in 
women?'  Johnson.  'Why  yes,  Sir;  but  it  is  a  delusion 
that  is  always  beginning  again.'  Boswell.  'I  don't  know 
but  there  is  upon  the  whole  more  misery  than  happiness 
produced  by  that  passion.'  Johnson.  'I  don't  think  so. 
Sir.' 

'Never  speak  of  a  man  in  his  own  presence.  It  is  always 
indelicate,  and  may  be  offensive.' 

'Questioning  is  not  the  mode  of  conversation  among  gen- 
tlenaen.  It  is  assuming  a  superiority,  and  it  is  particularly 
wroBg  to  question  a  man  concerning  himself.  There  may  be 
parts  of  his  former  life  which  he  may  not  wish  to  be  made 
tnown  to  other  persons,  or  even  brought  to  his  own  recol- 
lection.' 

'A  man  should  be  careful  never  to  tell  tales  of  himself  to 
his  own  disadvantage.  People  may  be  amused  and  laugh  at 
the  time,  but  they  will  be  remembered,  and  brought  out 
against  him  upon  some  subsequent  occasion.' 

"Much  may  be  done  if  a  man  puts  his  whole  mind  to  a 
particular  object.  By  doing  so,  Norton  has  made  himself 
the  great  lawyer  that  he  is  allowed  to  be.' 

On  Tuesday,  March  26,  there  came  for  us  an  equipage 
properly  suited  to  a  wealthy  well-beneficed  clergyman; — 
Dr.  Taylor's  large  roomy  post-chaise,  drawn  by  four  stout 
plump  horses,  and  driven  by  two  steady  jolly  postillions, 
t^hich  conveyed  us  to  Ashbourne;  where  I  found  my  friend's 
schoolfellow  living  upon  an  establishment  perfectly  corre- 
sponding with  his  substantial  creditable  equipage:  his  house, 
garden,  pleasure-grounds,  table,  in  short  every  thing  good, 
and  no  scantiness  appearing.  Every  man  should  form  such 
a  plan  of  living  as  he  can  execute  completely.  Let  him  not 
draw  an  outline  wider  than  he  can  fill  up.  I  have  seen  many 
skeletons  of  Shew  and  magnificence  which  excite  at  oneie 


17761  DR.   TAYLOR  285 

ridicule  and  pity.  Dr.  Taylor  had  a  good  estate  of  his  own, 
and  good  preferment  in  the  church,  being  a  prebendary  of 
Westminster,  and  rector  of  Bosworth.  He  was  a  diligent 
justice  of  the  jieace,  and  presided  over  the  town  of  Ash- 
bourne, to  the  inhabitants  of  which  I  was  told  he  was  very 
liberal;  and  as  a  proof  of  this  it  was  mentioned  to  me,  he 
had  the  preceding  winter  distributed  two  hundred  pounds 
among  such  of  them  as  stood  in  need  of  his  assistance.  He 
had  consequently  a  considerable  political  interest  in  the 
county  of  Derby,  which  he  employed  to  support  the  Devon- 
shire family;  for  though  the  schoolfellow  and  friend  of  John- 
son, he  was  a  Whig.  I  could  not  perceive  in  his  character 
much  congeniality  of  any  sort  with  that  of  Johnson,  who, 
however,  said  to  me,  'Sir,  he  has  a  very  strong  understand- 
ing.' His  size,  and  figure,  and  countenance,  and  manner, 
were  that  of  a  hearty  English  'Squire,  with  the  parson  super- 
induced: and  I  took  particular  notice  of  his  upper  servant, 
Mr.  Peters,  a  decent  grave  man,  in  purple  clothes,  and  a 
large  white  wig,  like  the  butler  or  major  domo  of  a  Bishop. 

Dr.  Johnson  and  Dr.  Taylor  met  with  great  cordiality; 
and  Johnson  soon  gave  him  the  same  sad  account  of  their 
school-fellow,  Congreve,  that  he  had  given  to  Mr.  Hector; 
adding  a  remark  of  such  moment  to  the  rational  conduct  of 
a  man  in  the  decline  of  life,  that  it  deserves  to  be  imprinted 
upon  every  mind:  'There  is  nothing  against  which  an  old 
man  should  be  so  much  upon  his  guard  as  putting  himself  to 
nurse.'  Innumerable  have  been  the  melancholy  instances 
of  men  once  distinguished  for  firmness,  resolution,  and  spirit, 
who  in  their  latter  days  have  been  governed  like  children,  by 
interested  female  artifice. 

Dr.  Taylor  commended  a  physician  who  was  known  to 
him  and  Dr.  Johnson,  and  said,  'I  fight  many  battles  for 
him,  as  many  people  in  the  country  dislike  him.'  Johnson. 
'But  you  should  consider.  Sir,  that  by  every  one  of  your 
victories  he  is  a  loser;  for,  every  man  of  whom  you  get  the 
better,  will  be  very  angry,  and  resolve  not  to  employ  him; 
whereas  if  people  get  the  better  of  you  in  argument  about 
him,  they'll  think,  "We'll  send  for  Dr.  ******  nevertheless.'" 
This  was  an  observation  deep  and  sure  in  human  nature. 


286  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1775 

Next  day,  as  Dr.  Johnson  had  acquainted  Dr.  Taylor  of 
the  reason  for  his  returning  speedily  to  London,  it  was  re- 
solved that  we  should  set  out  after  dinner.  A  few  of  Dr» 
Taylor's  neighbours  were  his  guests  that  day. 

Dr.  Johnson  talked  with  approbation  of  one  who  had  at- 
tained to  the  state  of  the  philosophical  wise  man,  that  is,  to 
have  no  want  of  any  thing.  'Then,  Sir,  (said  I,)  the  savage 
is  a  wise  man.'  'Sir,  (said  he,)  I  do  not  mean  simply  being 
without, — but  not  having  a  want.'  I  maintained,  against 
this  proposition,  that  it  was  better  to  have  fine  clothes,  for 
instance,  than  not  to  feel  the  want  of  them.  Johnson. 
'No,  Sir;  fine  clothes  are  good  only  as  they  supply  the 
want  of  other  means  of  procuring  respect.  Was  Charles  the 
Twelfth,  think  you,  less  respected  for  his  coarse  blue  coat 
and  black  stock?  And  you  find  the  King  of  Prussia  dresses 
plain,  because  the  dignity  of  his  character  is  sufficient.'  I 
here  brought  myself  into  a  scrape,  for  I  heedlessly 'said, 
'Would  not  you,  Sir,  be  the  better  for  velvet  and  embroi- 
dery?' Johnson.  'Sir,  you  put  an  end  to  all  argument 
when  you  introduce  your  opponent  himself.  Have  you  no 
better  manners  ?  There  is  ?/owr  wani.'  I  apologised  by  say- 
ing, I  had  mentioned  him  as  an  instance  of  one  who  wanted 
as  little  as  any  man  in  the  world,  and  yet,  perhaps,  might 
receive  some  additional  lustre  from  dress. 

Having  left  Ashbourne  in  the  evening,  we  stopped  to 
change  horses  at  Derby,  and  availed  ourselves  of  a  moment 
to  enjoy  the  conversation  of  my  countryman.  Dr.  Butter, 
then  physician  there.  He  was  in  great  indignation  because 
Lord  Mountstuart's  bill  for  a  Scotch  militia  had  been  lost. 
Dr.  Johnson  was  as  violent  against  it.  'I  am  glad,  (said  he,) 
that  Parliament  has  had  the  spirit  to  throw  it  out.  You 
wanted  to  take  advantage  of  the  timidity  of  our  scoundrels;^ 
(meaning,  I  suppose,  the  ministry).  It  may  be  observed, 
that  he  used  the  epithet  scoundrel  very  commonly  not  quite 
in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  generally  understood,  but  as  a 
strong  term  of  disapprobation;  as  when  he  abruptly  an- 
swered Mrs.  Thrale,  who  had  asked  him  how  he  did,  '  Ready 
to  become  a  scoundrel,  Madam;  with  a  little  more  spoiling 
you  will,  I  think,  make  me  a  complete  rascal:'  he  meant, 


1776]  DEATH  OF  A  SCHOOLFELLOW  287 

easy  to  become  a  capricious  and  self-indulgent  valetudinarian; 
a  character  for  which  I  have  heard  him  express  great  disgust. 
We  lay  this  night  at  Loughborough. 

On  Thursday,  March  28,  we  pursued  our  journey.  He 
said,  'It  is  commonly  a  weak  man  who  marries  for  love.' 
We  then  talked  of  marr\nng  women  of  fortune;  and  I  men- 
tioned a  common  remark,  that  a  man  may  be,  upon  the 
whole,  richer  by  marrying  a  woman  with  a  very  small  portion, 
because  a  woman  of  fortune  will  be  proportionally  expensive; 
whereas  a  woman  who  brings  none  will  be  very  moderate 
in  expenses.  Johnson.  'Depend  upon  it,  Sir,  this  is  not 
true.  A  woman  of  fortune  being  used  to  the  handling  of 
money,  spends  it  judiciously:  but  a  woman  who  gets  the 
command  of  money  for  the  first  time  upon  her  marriage, 
has  such  a  gust  in  spending  it,  that  she  throws  it  away  with 
great  profusion.' 

He  "praised  the  ladies  of  the  present  age,  insisting  that  they 
were  more  faithful  to  their  husbands,  and  more  virtuous  in 
every  respect,  than  in  former  times,  because  their  under- 
standings were  better  cultivated. 

At  Leicester  we  read  in  the  news-paper  that  Dr.  James 
was  dead.  I  thought  that  the  death  of  an  old  school-fellow, 
and  one  with  whom  he  had  lived  a  good  deal  in  London, 
would  have  affected  my  fellow-traveller  much:  but  he  only 
said,  *  Ah !  poor  Jamy.'  Afterwards,  however,  when  we  were 
in  the  chaise,  he  said,  with  more  tenderness,  'Since  I  set 
out  on  this  jaunt,  I  have  lost  an  old  friend  and  a  young  one; 
— Dr.  James,  and  poor  Harry.'    (Meaning  Mr.  Thrale's  son.) 

I  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  our  approach  to  London,  that 
metropolis  which  we  both  loved  so  much,  for  the  high  and 
varied  intellectual  pleasure  which  it  furnishes.  I  exj)eri- 
enced  immediate  happiness  while  whirled  along  with  such  a 
companion,  and  said  to  him,  'Sir,  you  observed  one  day  at 
General  Oglethorpe's,  that  a  man  is  never  happy  for  the 
present,  but  when  he  is  drunk.  Will  you  not  add, — or  when 
driving  rapidly  in  a  post-chaise?'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir,  you 
ftre  driving  rapidly /rom  something,  or  to  something.' 

Talking  of  melancholy,  he  said,  'Some  men,  and  very 
thinking  men  too,  have  not  those  vexing  thoughts.     Sir 


288  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

Joshua  Reynolds  is  the  same  all  the  year  round.  Beau- 
clerk,  except  when  ill  and  in  pain,  is  the  same.  But  I  believe 
most  men  have  them  in  the  degree  in  which  they  are  capable 
of  having  them.  If  I  were  in  the  country,  and  were  dis- 
tressed by  that  malady,  I  would  force  myself  to  take  a  book; 
and  every  time  I  did  it  I  should  find  it  the  easier.  Melan- 
choly, indeed,  should  be  diverted  by  every  means  but  drink- 
ing.' 

We  stopped  at  Messieurs  Dillys,  booksellers  in  the  Poul- 
try; from  whence  he  hurried  away,  in  a  hackney  coach,  to 
Mr.  Thrale's,  in  the  Borough.  I  called  at  his  house  in  the 
evening,  having  promised  to  acquaint  Mrs.  Williams  of  his 
safe  return;  when,  to  my  surprize,  I  found  him  sitting  with 
her  at  tea,  and,  as  I  thought,  not  in  a  very  good  humour: 
for,  it  seems,  when  he  had  got  to  Mr.  Thrale's,  he  found  the 
coach  was  at  the  door  waiting  to  carry  Mrs.  and  Miss  Thrale, 
and  Signor  Baretti,  their  Italian  master,  to  Bath.  This  was 
not  shewing  the  attention  which  might  have  been  expected 
to  the  'Guide,  Philosopher,  and  Friend,'  the  hnlac  who  had 
hastened  from  the  country  to  console  a  distressed  mother, 
who  he  understood  was  very  anxious  for  his  return.  They 
had,  I  found,  without  ceremony,  proceeded  on  their  intended 
journey.  I  was  glad  to  understand  from  him  that  it  was 
still  resolved  that  his  tour  to  Italy  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale 
should  take  place,  of  which  he  had  entertained  some  doubt, 
on  account  of  the  loss  which  they  had  suffered;  and  his 
doubts  afterwards  proved  to  be  well-founded.  He  observed, 
indeed  very  justly,  that  'their  loss  was  an  additional  reason 
for  their  going  abroad;  and  if  it  had  not  been  fixed  that  he 
should  have  been  one  of  the  party,  he  would  force  them  out; 
but  he  would  not  advise  them  unless  his  advice  was  asked, 
lest  they  might  suspect  that  he  recommended  what  he  wished 
on  his  own  account.'  I  was  not  pleased  that  his  intimacy 
with  Mr.  Thrale's  family,  though  it  no  doubt  contributed 
much  to  his  comfort  and  enjoyment,  was  not  without  some 
degree  of  restraint:  not,  as  has  been  grossly  suggested,  that 
it  was  required  of  him  as  a  task  to  talk  for  the  entertainment 
of  them  and  their  company;  but  that  he  was  not  quite  at  his 
ease;    which,  however,  might  partly  be  owing  to  his  own 


1776]  OMAI  289 

honest  pride — that  dignity  of  mind  which  is  always  jealous 
of  appearing  too  compliant. 

On  Sunday,  March  31,  I  called  on  him,  and  shewed  him 
as  a  curiosity  which  I  had  discovered,  his  Translalion  of 
Lobo's  Account  of  Abyssinia,  which  Sir  John  Pringle  had  lent 
me,  it  being  then  Uttle  known  as  one  of  his  works.  He  said, 
'Take  no  notice  of  it,'  or  'don't  talk  of  it.'  He  seemed  to 
think  it  beneath  him,  though  done  at  six-and-twenty.  I 
said  to  him,  'Your  style,  Sir,  is  much  improved  since  you 
translated  this.'  He  answered  with  a  sort  of  triumphant 
smile,  'Sir,  I  hope  it  is.' 

On  Wednesday,  April  3,  in  the  morning  I  found  him  very 
busy  putting  his  books  in  order,  and  as  they  were  generally 
very  old  ones,  clouds  of  dust  were  flying  around  him.  He 
had  on  a  pair  of  large  gloves  such  as  hedgers  use.  His  pres- 
ent appearance  put  me  in  mind  of  my  uncle.  Dr.  Boswell'& 
description  of  him,  'A  robust  genius,  born  to  grapple  with 
whole  libraries.' 

He  had  been  in  company  with  Omai,  a  native  of  one  of 
the  South  Sea  Islands,  after  he  had  been  some  time  in  this 
countr\'.  He  was  struck  with  the  elegance  of  his  behaviour, 
and  accounted  for  it  thus:  'Sir,  he  had  passed  his  time, 
while  in  England,  only  in  the  best  company;  so  that  all  that 
he  had  acquired  of  our  manners  was  genteel.  As  a  proof  of 
this.  Sir,  Lord  Mulgrave  and  he  dined  one  day  at  Streatham; 
they  sat  with  their  backs  to  the  light  fronting  me,  so  that  I 
could  not  see  distinctly;  and  there  was  so  little  of  the  sav- 
age in  Omai,  that  I  was  afraid  to  speak  to  either,  lest  I 
should  mistake  one  for  the  other.' 

We  agreed  to  dine  to-day  at  the  Mitre-tavern,  after  the 
rising  of  the  House  of  Lords,  where  a  branch  of  the  litigation 
concerning  the  Douglas  Estate,  in  which  I  was  one  of  the 
counsel,  was  to  come  on. 

I  introduced  the  topick,  which  is  often  ignorantly  urged, 
that  the  Universities  of  England  are  too  rich;  so  that  learn- 
ing does  not  flourish  in  them  as  it  would  do,  if  those  who 
teach  had  smaller  salaries,  and  depended  on  their  assiduity 
for  a  great  part  of  their  income.  Johnson.  'Sir,  the  very 
reverse  of  this  is  the  truth ;  the  English  Universities  are  not 


290  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

rich  enough.  Our  fellowships  are  only  sufficient  to  support 
a  man  during  his  studies  to  fit  him  for  the  world,  and  ac- 
cordingly in  general  they  are  held  no  longer  than  till  an 
opportunity  offers  of  getting  away.  Now  and  then,  perhaps, 
there  is  a  fellow  who  grows  old  in  his  college;  but  this  is 
against  his  will,  unless  he  be  a  man  very  indolent  indeed. 
A  hundred  a  year  is  reckoned  a  good  fellowship,  and  that  is 
no  more  than  is  necessary  to  keep  a  man  decently  as  a 
scholar.  We  do  not  allow  our  fellows  to  marry,  because  we 
consider  academical  institutions  as  preparatory  to  a  settle- 
ment in  the  world.  It  is  only  by  being  employed  as  a  tutor, 
that  a  fellow  can  obtain  any  thing  more  than  a  livelihood. 
To  be  sure  a  man,  who  has  enough  without  teaching,  will 
probably  not  teach;  for  we  would  all  be  idle  if  we  could. 
In  the  same  manner,  a  man  who  is  to  get  nothing  by  teach- 
ing, will  not  exert  himself.  Gresham  College  was  intended 
as  a  place  of  instruction  for  London;  able  professors  were  to 
read  lectures  gratis,  they  contrived  to  have  no  scholars; 
whereas,  if  they  had  been  allowed  to  receive  but  sixpence 
a  lecture  from  each  scholar,  they  would  have  been  emulous 
to  have  had  many  scholars.  Every  body  will  agree  that  it 
should  be  the  interest  of  those  who  teach  to  have  scholars; 
and  this  is  the  case  in  our  Universities.  That  they  are  too 
xich  is  certainly  not  true ;  for  they  have  nothing  good  enough 
to  keep  a  man  of  eminent  learning  with  them  for  his  life. 
In  the  foreign  Universities  a  professorship  is  a  high  thing. 
It  is  as  much  almost  as  a  man  can  make  by  his  learning; 
a,nd  therefore  we  find  the  most  learned  men  abroad  are  in 
the  Universities.  It  is  not  so  with  us.  Our  Universities 
are  impoverished  of  learning,  by  the  penury  of  their  pro- 
visions. I  wish  there  were  many  places  of  a  thousand  a-year 
at  Oxford,  to  keep  first-rate  men  of  learning  from  quitting 
the  University.' 

I  mentioned  Mr.  Maclaurin's  uneasiness  on  account  of  a 
degree  of  ridicule  carelessly  thrown  on  his  deceased  father,  in 
Goldsmith's  History  of  Animated  Nature,  in  which  that  cele- 
brated mathematician  is  represented  as  being  subject  to  fits 
of  yawning  so  violent  as  to  render  him  incapable  of  pro- 
ceeding in  his  lecture;  a  story  altogether  unfounded,  but  for 


1776]       THE  ROMAN  CATHOLIC   RELIGION         291 

the  publication  of  which  the  law  would  give  no  reparation. 
This  led  us  to  agitate  the  question,  whether  legal  redress 
could  be  obtained,  even  when  a  man's  deceased 'relation  was 
calumniated  in  a  publication. 

On  Friday,  April  5,  being  Good  Friday,  after  having  at- 
tended the  morning  service  at  St.  Clement's  Church,  I  walked 
home  with  Johason.  We  talked  of  the  Roman  Catholick 
religion.  Johnson.  'In  the  barbarous  ages.  Sir,  priests 
and  people  were  equally  deceived;  but  afterwards  there 
were  gross  corruptions  introduced  by  the  clergy,  such  as  in- 
dulgencies  to  priests  to  have  concubines,  and  the  worship 
of  images,  not,  indeed,  inculcated,  but  knowingly  permitted.' 
He  strongly  censured  the  licensed  stews  at  Rome.  Boswell. 
'So  then,  Sir,  you  would  allow  of  no  irregular  intercourse 
whatever  between  the  sexes?'  Johnson.  'To  be  sure  I 
would  not,  Sir.  I  would  punish  it  much  more  than  it  is 
done,  and  so  restrain  it.  In  all  countries  there  has  been 
fornication,  as  in  all  countries  there  has  been  theft;  but 
there  may  be  more  or  less  of  the  one,  as  well  as  of  the  other, 
in  proportion  to  the  force  of  law.  All  men  will  naturally 
commit  fornication,  as  all  men  \iill  naturally  steal.  And, 
Sir,  it  is  very  absurd  to  argue,  as  has  been  often  done,  that 
prostitutes  are  necessary  to  prevent  the  violent  effects  of 
appetite  from  violating  the  decent  order  of  life ;  nay,  should 
be  permitted,  in  order  to  preserve  the  chastity  of  our  wives 
and  daughters.  Depend  upon  it.  Sir,  severe  laws,  steadily 
enforced,  would  be  sufficient  against  those  evils,  and  would 
promote  marriage.' 

Mr.  Thrale  called  upon  him,  and  appeared  to  bear  the  loss 
of  his  son  with  a  manly  composure.  There  was  no  affecta- 
tion about  him;  and  he  talked,  as  usual,  upon  indifferent 
subjects.  He  seemed  to  me  to  hesitate  as  to  the  intended 
Italian  tour,  on  which,  I  flattered  myself,  he  and  Mrs.  Thrale 
and  Dr.  Johnson  were  soon  to  set  out;  and,  therefore,  I 
pressed  it  as  much  as  I  could.  I  mentioned,  that  Mr.  Beau- 
clerk  had  said,  that  Baretti,  whom  they  were  to  carry  with 
them,  would  keep  them  so  long  in  the  little  towns  of  his  own 
district,  that  they  would  not  have  time  to  see  Rome.  I 
mentioned  this,   to  put  them  on  their  guard.    Johnson. 


292  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

'Sir,  we  do  not  thank  Mr.  Beauclerk  for  supposing  that  we 
are  to  be  directed  by  Baretti.  No,  Sir;  Mr.  Thrale  is  to  go, 
by  my  advice,  to  Mr.  Jackson,  (the  all-knowing)  and  get 
from  him  a  plan  for  seeing  the  most  that  can  be  seen  in  the 
time  that  we  have  to  travel.  We  must,  to  be  sure,  see 
Rome,  Naples,  Florence,  and  Venice,  and  as  much  more  as 
we  can.'     (Speaking  with  a  tone  of  animation.) 

When  I  expressed  an  earnest  wish  for  his  remarks  on  Italj% 
he  said,  'I  do  not  see  that  I  could  make  a  book  upon  Italy; 
yet  I  should  be  glad  to  get  two  hundred  pounds,  or  five  hun- 
dred pounds,  by  such  a  work.'  This  shewed  both  that  a 
journal  of  his  Tour  upon  the  Continent  was  not  wholly  out 
of  his  contemplation,  and  that  he  uniformly  adhered  to 
that  strange  opinion,  which  his  indolent  disposition  made 
him  utter:  'No  man  but  a  blockhead  ever  wrote,  except  for 
money.'  Numerous  instances  to  refute  this  will  occur  to  all 
who  are  versed  in  the  history  of  literature. 

He  gave  us  one  of  the  many  sketches  of  character  which 
were  treasured  in  his  mind,  and  which  he  was  wont  to  pro- 
duce quite  unexpectedly  in  a  very  entertaining  manner. 
'I  lately,  (said  he,)  received  a  letter  from  the  East  Indies, 
from  a  gentleman  whom  I  formerly  knew  very  well;  he  had 
returned  from  that  country  with  a  handsome  fortune,  as  it 
was  reckoned,  before  means  were  found  to  acquire  those 
immense  sums  which  have  been  brought  from  thence  of  late; 
he  was  a  scholar,  and  an  agreeable  man,  and  lived  very 
prettily  in  London,  till  his  wife  died.  After  her  death,  he 
took  to  dissipation  and  gaming,  and  lost  all  he  had.  One 
evening  he  lost  a  thousand  pounds  to  a  gentleman  whose 
name  I  am  sorry  I  have  forgotten.  Next  morning  he  sent 
the  gentleman  five  hundred  pounds,  with  an  apology  that  it 
was  all  he  had  in  the  world.  The  gentleman  sent  the  money 
back  to  him,  declaring  he  would  not  accept  of  it;  and  adding, 

that  if  Mr.  had  occasion  for  five  hundred  pounds 

more,  he  would  lend  it  to  him.  He  resolved  to  go  out  again 
to  the  East  Indies,  and  make  his  fortune  anew.  He  got  a 
considerable  appointment,  and  I  had  some  intention  of  ac- 
companying him.  Had  I  thought  then  as  I  do  now,  I  should 
have  gone:  but,  at  that  time,  I  had  objections  to  .quitting 
England.' 


17761  SKETCHES  OF  CHARACTER  293 

It  was  a  very  remarkable  circumstance  about  Johnson, 
whom  shallow  observers  have  supposed  to  have  been  igno- 
rant of  the  world,  that  very  few  men  had  seen  greater  variety 
of  characters;  and  none  could  observe  them  better,  as  was 
evident  from  the  strong,  yet  nice  portraits  which  he  often 
drew.  I  have  frequently  thought  that  if  he  had  made  out 
what  the  French  call  une  catalogue  raisonnee  of  all  the  {peo- 
ple who  had  passed  under  his  observation,  it  would  have 
afforded  a  very  rich  fund  of  instruction  and  entertainment. 
The  suddenness  with  which  his  accounts  of  some  of  them 
started  out  in  conversation,  was  not  less  pleasing  than  sur- 
prizing. I  remember  he  once  observed  to  me,  '  It  is  wonder- 
ful. Sir,  what  is  to  be  found  in  London.  The  most  literary 
conversation  that  I  ever  enjoyed,  was  at  the  table  of  Jack 
Ellis,  a  money-scrivener  -behind  the  Royal  Exchange,  with 
whom  I  at  one  period  used  to  dine  generally  once  a 
week.' 

Volumes  would  be  required  to  contain  a  list  of  his  numerous 
and  various  acquaintance,  none  of  whom  he  ever  forgot; 
and  could  describe  and  discriminate  them  all  with  precision 
and  vivacity.  He  associated  with  persons  the  most  widely 
different  in  manners,  abilities,  rank,  and  accomplishments. 
He  was  at  once  the  companion  of  the  brilliant  Colonel  For- 
rester of  the  Guards,  who  wrote  The  Polite  Philosopher, 
and  of  the  aukward  and  uncouth  Robert  Levet;  of  Lord 
Thurlow,  and  Mr.  Sastres,  the  Italian  master;  and  has 
dined  one  day  with  the  beautiful,  gay,  and  fascinating  Lady 
Craven,  and  the  next  with  good  Mrs.  Gardiner,  the  tallow- 
chandler,  on  Snow-hill. 

On  my  expressing  my  wonder  at  his  discovering  so  much 
of  the  knowledge  peculiar  to  different  professions,  he  told 
me,  *I  learnt  what  I  know  of  law,  chiefly  from  Mr.  Ballow, 
a  very  able  man.  I  learnt  some,  too,  from  Chambers;  but 
was  not  so  teachable  then.  One  is  not  willing  to  be  taught 
by  a  young  man.'  When  I  expressed  a  wish  to  know  more 
about  Mr.  Ballow,  Johnson  said,  'Sir,  I  have  seen  him  but 
once  these  twenty  years.  The  tide  of  life  has  driven  us 
different  ways.'  I  was  sorry  at  the  time  to  hear  this;  but 
whoever  quits  the  creeks  of  private  connections,  and  fairly 


294  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i77ft 

gets  into  the  great  ocean  of  London,  will,  by  imperceptible 
degrees,  unavoidably  experience  such  cessations  of  acquain- 
tance. 

'My  knowledge  of  physick,  (he  added,)  I  learnt  from  Dr. 
James,  whom  I  helped  in  writing  the  proposals  for  his  Dic- 
tionary and  also  a  little  in  the  Dictionary  itself.  I  also  learnt 
from  Dr.  Lawrence,  but  was  then  grown  more  stubborn.' 

A  curious  incident  happened  to-day,  while  Mr.  Thrale  and 
I  sat  with  him.  Francis  announced  that  a  large  packet  was 
brought  to  him  from  the  post-office,  said  to  have  come  from 
Lisbon,  and  it  was  charged  seven  founds  ten  shillings.  He 
would  not  receive  it,  supposing  it  to  be  some  trick,  nor  did  he 
even  look  at  it.  But  upon  enquiry  afterwards  he  found  that 
it  was  a  real  packet  for  him,  from  that  very  friend  in  the 
East  Indies  of  whom  he  had  been  speaking;  and  the  ship 
which  carried  it  having  come  to  Portugal,  this  packet,  with 
others,  had  been  put  into  the  post-office  at  Lisbon. 

I  mentioned  a  new  gaming-club,  of  which  Mr.  Beauclerk 
had  given  me  an  account,  where  the  members  played  to  a 
desperate  extent.  Johnson.  'Depend  upon  it.  Sir,  this  is 
mere  talk.  Who  is  ruined  by  gaming?  You  will  not  find 
six  instances  in  an  age.  There  is  a  strange  rout  made  about 
deep  play:  whereas  you  have  many  more  people  ruined  by 
adventurous  trade,  and  yet  we  do  not  hear  such  an  outcry 
against  it.'  Thrale.  '  There  may  be  few  people  absolutely 
ruined  by  deep  play;  but  very  many  are  much  hurt  in  their 
circumstances  by  it.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  and  so  are  very 
many  by  other  kinds  of  expence.'  I  had  heard  him  talk  once 
before  in  the  same  manner;  and  at  Oxford  he  said,  'he 
wished  he  had  learnt  to  play  at  cards.'  The  truth,  however, 
is,  that  he  loved  to  display  his  ingenuity  in  argument;  and 
therefore  would  sometimes  in  conversation  maintain  opin- 
ions which  he  was  sensible  were  wrong,  but  in  supporting 
which,  his  reasoning  and  wit  would  be  most  conspicuous. 
He  would  begin  thus:  'Why,  Sir,  as  to  the  good  or  evil  of 
card-playing — '  'Now,  (said  Garrick,)  he  is  thinking  which 
side  he  shall  take.'  He  appeared  to  have  a  pleasure  in  con- 
tradiction, especially  when  any  opinion  whatever  was  deliv- 
ered with  an  air  of  confidence;   so  that  there  was  hardly 


1776]  ON  MARRIAGE  295 

any  topick,  if  not  one  of  the  great  truths  of  Religion  and 
Morality,  that  he  might  not  have  been  incited  to  argue, 
either  for  or  against.  Lord  Elibank  had  the  highest  admira- 
tion of  his  powers.  He  once  observed  to  me,  'Whatever 
opinion  Johnson  maintains,  I  will  not  say  that  he  convinces 
me;  but  he  never  fails  to  shew  me,  that  he  has  good  reasons 
for  it.'  I  have  heard  Johnson  pay  his  Lordship  this  high 
compliment :  '  I  never  was  in  Lord  Elibank's  company  with- 
out learning  something.' 

We  sat  together  till  it  was  too  late  for  the  afternoon 
service.  Thrale  said  he  had  come  with  intention  to  go  to 
church  with  us.  We  went  at  seven  to  evening  prayers  at 
St.  Clement's  church,  after  having  drank  coffee;  an  indul- 
gence, which  I  understood  Johnson  yielded  to  on  this  occa- 
sion, in  compliment  to  Thrale. 

On  Sunday,  April  7,  Easter-day,  after  having  been  at  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral,  I  came  to  Dr.  Johnson,  according  to  my 
usual  custom.  It  seemed  to  me,  that  there  was  always 
something  peculiarly  mild  and  placid  in  his  manner  upon 
this  holy  festival,  the  commemoration  of  the  most  joyful 
event  in  the  history  of  our  world,  the  resurrection  of  our 
Lord  and  Saviour,  who,  having  triumphed  over  death  and 
the  grave,  proclaimed  immortality  to  mankind. 

I  repeated  to  him  an  argument  of  a  lady  of  my  acquain- 
tance, who  maintained,  that  her  husband's  having  been 
guilty  of  numberless  infidelities,  released  her  from  conjugal 
obligations,  because  they  were  reciprocal.  Johnson.  'This 
is  miserable  stuff,  Sir.  To  the  contract  of  marriage,  besides 
the  man  and  wife,  there  is  a  third  party — Society;  and  if  it 
be  considered  as  a  vow — God:  and,  therefore,  it  cannot  be 
dissolved  by  their  consent  alone.  Laws  are  not  made  for 
particular  cases,  but  for  men  in  general.  A  woman  may  be 
unhappy  with  her  husband;  but  she  cannot  be  freed  from 
him  without  the  approbation  of  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical 
power.  A  man  may  be  unhappy,  because  he  is  not  so  rich 
as  another;  but  he  is  not  to  seize  upon  another's  property 
with  his  own  hand.'  Boswell.  'But,  Sir,  this  lady  does 
not  want  that  the  contract  should  be  dissolved;  she  only 
argues  that  she  may  indulge  herself  in  gallantries  with  equal 


296  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [me 

freedom  as  her  husband  does,  provided  she  takes  care  not 
to  introduce  a  spurious  issue  into  his  family.  You  know, 
Sir,  what  Macrobius  has  told  us  of  Julia.'  Johnson.  'This 
lady  of  yours,  Sir,  I  think,  is  very  fit  for  a  brothel.' 

Mr.  Macbean,  authour  of  the  Dictionary  of  ancient  Geog- 
raphy, came  in.  He  mentioned  that  he  had  been  forty 
years  absent  from  Scotland.  'Ah,  Bos  well!  (said  Johnson, 
smiling,)  what  would  you  give  to  be  forty  years  from  Scot- 
land?' I  said,  'I  should  not  like  to  be  so  long  absent  from 
the  seat  of  my  ancestors.'  This  gentleman,  Mrs.  Williams, 
and  Mr.  Levet,  dined  with  us. 

Mrs.  WilUams  was  very  peevish;  and  I  wondered  at  John- 
son's patience  with  her  now,  as  I  had  often  done  on  similar 
occasions.  The  truth  is,  that  his  humane  consideration  of 
the  forlorn  and  indigent  state  in  which  this  lady  was  left 
by  her  father,  induced  him  to  treat  her  with  the  utmost 
tenderness,  and  even  to  be  desirous  of  procuring  her  amuse- 
ment, so  as  sometimes  to  incommode  many  of  his  friends, 
by  carrying  her  with  him  to  their  houses,  where,  from 
her  manner  of  eating,  in  consequence  of  her  blindness,  she 
could  not  but  offend  the  deUcacy  of  persons  of  nice  sensa- 
tions. 

After  coffee,  we  went  to  afternoon  service  in  St.  Clement's 
church.  Observing  some  beggars  in  the  street  as  we  walked 
along,  I  said  to  him  I  supposed  there  was  no  civilized  coun- 
try in  the  world,  where  the  misery  of  want  in  the  lowest 
classes  of  the  people  was  prevented.  Johnson.  'I  believe, 
Sir,  there  is  not;  but  it  is  better  that  some  should  be  unhappy, 
than  that  none  should  be  happy,  which  would  be  the  case 
in  a  general  state  of  equality.' 

When  the  service  was  ended,  I  went  home  with  him,  and 
we  sat  quietly  by  ourselves. 

Upon  the  question  whether  a  man  who  had  been  guilty  of 
vicious  actions  would  do  well  to  force  himself  into  solitude 
and  sadness;  Johnson.  'No,  Sir,  unless  it  prevent  him 
from  being  vicious  again.  With  some  people,  gloomy  peni- 
tence is  only  madness  turned  upside  down.  A  man  may  be 
gloomy,  till,  in  order  to  be  relieved  from  gloom,  he  has  re- 
course again  to  criminal  indulgencies.' 


1776J  CHILDREN  IN  COMPANY  297 

On  Wednesday,  April  10, 1  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Thrale's, 
where  were  Mr.  Murphy  and  some  other  company.  Before 
dinner,  Dr.  Johnson  and  I  passed  some  time  by  ourselves. 
I  was  sorry  to  find  it  was  now  resolved  that  the  proposed 
journey  to  Italy  should  not  take  place  this  year.  He  said, 
'I  am  disappointed,  to  be  sure;  but  it  is  not  a  great  disap- 
pointment.' I  wondered  to  see  him  bear,  with  a  philosoph- 
ical calmness,  what  would  have  made  most  people  peevish 
and  fretful.  I  perceived,  however,  that  he  had  so  warmly 
cherished  the  hope  of  enjoying  classical  scenes,  that  he  could 
not  easily  part  with  the  scheme;  for  he  said:  'I  shall  prob- 
ably contrive  to  get  to  Italy  some  other  way.  But  I  won't 
mention  it  to*  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  as  it  might  vex  them.' 
I  suggested,  that  going  to  Italy  might  have  done  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Thrale  good.  Johnson.  'I  rather  believe  not.  Sir. 
While  grief  is  fresh,  every  attempt  to  divert  only  irritates. 
You  must  wait  till  grief  be  digested,  and  then  amusement 
will  dissipate  the  remaias  of  it.' 

I  said,  I  disliked  the  custom  which  some  people  had  of 
bringing  their  children  into  company,  because  it  in  a  manner 
forced  us  to  pay  foolish  compliments  to  please  their  parents. 
Johnson.  'You  are  right.  Sir.  We  may  be  excused  for  not 
caring  much  about  other  people's  children,  for  there  are 
many  who  care  very  little  about  their  own  children.  It  may 
be  observed,  that  men,  who  from  being  engaged  in  business, 
or  from  their  course  of  life  in  whatever  way,  seldom  see  their 
children,  do  not  care  much  about  them.  I  myself  should 
not  have  had  much  fondness  for  a  child  of  my  own.'  Mrs. 
Thrale.  'Nay,  Sir,  how  can  you  talk  so?'  Johnson. 
'At  least,  I  never  wished  to  have  a  child.' 

He  talked  of  Lord  Lyttelton's  extreme  anxiety  as  an 
authour;  observing,  that  'he  was  thirty  years  in  preparing 
his  History,  and  that  he  employed  a  man  to  point  it  for  him ; 
as  if  (laughing)  another  man  could  point  his  sense  better 
than  himself.'  Mr.  Murphy  said,  he  understood  his  history 
was  kept  back  several  years  for  fear  of  Smollet.  Johnson. 
'This  seems  strange  to  Murphy  and  me,  who  never  felt  that 
anxiety,  but  sent  what  we  wTote  to  the  press,  and  let  it  take 
its  chance.'     Mrs.  Thrale.     'The  time  has  been,  Sir,  when 


298  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

you  felt  it.'  Johnson.  'Why,  really,  Madam,  I  do  not 
recollect  a  time  when  that  was  the  case.' 

On  Thursday,  April  11, 1  dined  with  him  at  General  Paoli's. 
in  whose  house  I  now  resided,  and  where  I  had  ever  after- 
wards the  honour  of  being  entertained  with  the  kindest 
attention  as  his  constant  guest,  while  I  was  in  London,  till 
I  had  a  house  of  my  own  there.  I  mentioned  my  having 
that  morning  introduced  to  Mr.  Garrick,  Count  Neni,  a 
Flemish  Nobleman  of  great  rank  and  fortune,  to  whom  Gar- 
rick talked  of  Abel  Drugger  as  a  small  part;  and  related, 
with  pleasant  vanity,  that  a  Frenchman  who  had  seen  him 
in  one  of  his  low  characters,  exclaimed,  '  Comment !  je  ne  le 
crois  pas.  Ce  n'est  pas  Monsieur  Garrick,  ce  Grand  Homms  ! ' 
Garrick  added,  with  an  appearance  of  grave  recollection,  'If 
I  were  to  begin  life  again,  I  think  I  should  not  play  those 
low  characters.'  Upon  which  I  observed,  'Sir,  you  would  be 
in  the  wrong;  for  your  great  excellence  is  your  variety  of 
playing,  your  representing  so  well,  characters  so  very  dif- 
ferent.' Johnson.  'Garrick,  Sir,  was  not  in  earnest  in 
what  he  said;  for,  to  be  sure,  his  peculiar  excellence  is  his 
variety;  and,  perhaps,  there  is  not  any  one  character  which 
has  not  been  as  well  acted  by  somebody  else,  as  he  could  do 
it.'  BoswELL.  'Why  then.  Sir,  did  he  talk  so?'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  to  make  you  answer  as  you  did.'  Boswell. 
^I  don't  know.  Sir;  he  seemed  to  dip  deep  into  his  mind  for 
the  reflection.'  Johnson.  'He  had  not  far  to  dip.  Sir:  he 
said  the  same  thing,  probably,  twenty  times  before.' 

Of  a  nobleman  raised  at  a  very  early  period  to  high  office, 
he  said,  'His  parts.  Sir,  are  pretty  well  for  a  Lord;  but  would 
not  be  distinguished  in  a  man  who  had  nothing  else  but  his 
parts.' 

A  journey  to  Italy  was  still  in  his  thoughts.  He  said, 
*A  man  who  has  not  been  in  Italy,  is  always  conscious  of  an 
inferiority,  from  his  not  having  seen  what  it  is  expected  a 
man  should  see.  The  grand  object  of  travelling  is  to  see  the 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean.  On  those  shores  were  the  four 
great  Empires  of  the  world;  the  Assyrian,  the  Persian,  the 
Grecian,  and  the  Roman. — All  our  religion,  almost  all  our 
law,  almost  all  our  arts,  almost  all  that  sets  us  above  sav- 


1776)  GOLDSMITH  AND  DODSLEY  299 

ages,  has  come  to  us  from  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean.' 
The  General  observed,  that '  The  Mediterranean  would  be 
a  noble  subject  for  a  poem.' 

We  talked  of  translation.  I  said,  I  could  not  define  it, 
nor  could  I  think  of  a  similitude  to  illustrate  it;  but  that  it 
appeared  to  me  the  translation  of  poetry  could  be  only  imi- 
tation. Johnson.  'You  may  translate  books  of  science 
exactly.  You  may  also  translate  history,  in  so  far  as  it  is 
not  embellished  with  oratory,  which  is  poetical.  Poetry, 
indeed,  cannot  be  translated;  and,  therefore,  it  is  the  poets 
that  preserve  languages;  for  we  would  not  be  at  the  trouble 
to  learn  a  language,  if  we  could  have  all  that  is  written  in 
it  just  as  well  in  a  translation.  But  as  the  beauties  of 
p>oetry  cannot  be  preserved  in  any  language  except  that  in 
which  it  was  originally  written,  we  learn  the  language.' 

'Goldsmith  (he  said,)  referred  every  thing  to  vanity;  his 
virtues,  and  his  vices  too,  were  from  that  motive.  He  was 
not  a  social  man.     He  never  exchanged  mind  with  you.' 

We  spent  the  evening  at  Mr.  Hoole's.  Mr.  Mickle,  the 
excellent  translator  of  The  Lusiad,  was  there.  I  have  pre- 
served little  of  the  conversation  of  this  evening.  Dr.  John- 
son said,  'Thomson  had  a  true  f)oetical  genius,  the  power  of 
viewing  every  thing  in  a  poetical  light.  His  fault  is  such 
a  cloud  of  words  sometimes,  that  the  sense  can  hardly  peep 
through.  Shiels,  who  compiled  Cibber's  Lives  of  the  Poets, 
was  one  day  sitting  with  me.  I  took  down  Thomson,  and 
read  aloud  a  large  portion  of  him,  and  then  asked, — Is  not 
this  fine?  Shiels  having  expressed  the  highest  admiration. 
Well,  Sir,  (said  I,)  I  have  omitted  every  other  line.' 

I  related  a  dispute  between  Goldsmith  and  Mr.  Robert 
Dodsley,  one  day  when  they  and  I  were  dining  at  Tom 
Davies's,  in  1762.  Goldsmith  asserted,  that  there  was  no 
poetry  produced  in  this  age.  Dodsley  appealed  to  his  own 
Collection,  and  maintained,  that  though  you  could  not  find 
a  palace  like  Dryden's  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  you  had 
villages  composed  of  very  pretty  houses;  and  he  mentioned 
particularly  The  Spleen.  Johnson.  'I  think  Dodsley  gave 
up  the  question.  He  and  Goldsmith  said  the  same  thing; 
only  he  said  it  in  a  softer  manner  than  Goldsmith  did;   for 


300  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

he  acknowledged  that  there  was  no  poetry,  nothing  that 
towered  above  the  common  mark.  You  may  find  wit  and 
humour  in  verse,  and  yet  no  poetry.  Hudibras  has  a  pro- 
fusion of  these;  yet  it  is  not  to  be  reckoned  a  poem.  The 
Spleen,  in  Dodsley's  Collection,  on  which  you  say  he  chiefly 
rested,  is  not  poetry.'  Boswell.  'Does  not  Gray's  poetry, 
Sir,  tower  above  the  conamon  mark ? '  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir; 
but  we  must  attend  to  the  difference  between  what  men  in 
general  cannot  do  if  they  would,  and  what  every  man  may 
do  if  he  would.  Sixteen-string  Jack  ^  towered  above  the 
common  mark.'  Boswell.  'Then,  Sir,  what  is  poetry?' 
Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  it  is  much  easier  to  say  what  it  is 
not.  We  all  know  what  light  is;  but  it  is  not  easy  to  tell 
what  it  is.' 

On  Friday,  April  12,  I  dined  with  him  at  our  friend  Tom 
Davies's.  He  reminded  Dr.  Johnson  of  Mr.  Murphy's  hav- 
ing paid  him  the  highest  compliment  that  ever  was  paid  to 
a  layman,  by  asking  his  pardon  for  repeating  some  oaths  in 
the  course  of  telling  a  story. 

Johnson  and  I  supt  this  evening  at  the  Crown  and  Anchor 
tavern,  in  company  with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Mr.  Langton, 
Mr.  Nairne,  now  one  of  the  Scotch  Judges,  with  the  title  of 
Lord  Dunsinan,  and  my  very  worthy  friend,  Sir  William 
Forbes,  of  Pitsligo. 

We  discussed  the  question  whether  drinking  improved 
conversation  and  benevolence.  Sir  Joshua  maintained  it 
did.  Johnson.  'No,  Sir:  before  dinner  men  meet  with 
great  inequality  of  understanding;  and  those  who  are  con- 
scious of  their  inferiority,  have  the  modesty  not  to  talk. 
When  they  have  drunk  wine,  every  man  feels  himself  happy, 
and  loses  that  modesty,  and  grows  impudent  and  vociferous: 
but  he  is  not  improved;  he  is  only  not  sensible  of  his  defects.' 
Sir  Joshua  said  the  Doctor  was  talking  of  the  effects  of  ex- 
cess in  wine^,  but  that  a  moderate  glass  enlivened  the  mind, 
by  giving  a  proper  circulation  to  the  blood.     'I  am  (said  he,) 

1  A  noted  highwayman,  who  after  having  been  several  times  tried 
and  acquitted,  was  at  last  hanged.  He  was  remarkable  for  foppery 
in  his  dress,  and  particularly  for  wearing  a  bunch  of  sixteen  strings 
at  the  knees  of  his  breeches. — Boswell. 


1776]  WINE  AND  TALK  301 

in  very  good  spirits,  when  I  get  up  in  the  morning.  By  din- 
ner-time I  am  exhausted;  wine  puts  me  in  the  same  state  as 
when  I  got  up;  and  I  am  sure  that  moderate  drinking  makes 
people  talk  better.'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir;  wine  gives  not 
light,  gay,  ideal  hilarity;  but  tumultuous,  noisy,  clamorous 
merriment.  I  have  heard  none  of  those  drunken, — nay, 
drunken  is  a  coarse  word, — none  of  those  vinous  flights.' 
Sir  Joshua.  'Because  you  have  sat  by,  quite  sober,  and 
felt  an  envy  of  the  happiness  of  those  who  were  drinking.' 
Johnson.  'Perhaps,  contempt. — And,  Sir,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  be  drunk  one's  self,  to  relish  the  wit  of  drunkenness. 
Do  we  not  judge  of  the  drunken  wit,  of  the  dialogue  between 
lago  and  Cassio,  the  most  excellent  in  its  kind,  when  we  are 
quite  sober?  Wit  is  wit,  by  whatever  means  it  is  produced; 
and,  if  good,  will  appear  so  at  all  times.  I  admit  that  the 
spirits  are  raised  by  drinking,  as  by  the  common  participa- 
tion of  any  pleasure:  cock-fighting,  or  bear-baiting,  will 
raise  the  spirits  of  a  company,  a.s  drinking  does,  though 
surely  they  wiU  not  improve  conversation.  I  al.so  admit, 
that  there  are  some  sluggish  men  who  are  improved  by 
drinking;  as  there  are  fruits  which  are  not  good  till  they  are 
rotten.  There  are  such  men,  but  they  are  medlars.  I  i:> 
deed  allow  that  there  have  been  a  very  few  men  of  talents 
who  were  improved  by  drinking;  but  I  maintain  that  I  am 
right  as  to  the  effects  of  drinking  in  general:  and  let  it  be 
considered,  that  there  is  no  position,  however  false  in  its 
universality,  which  is  not  true  of  some  particular  man.'  Sir 
William  Forbes  said,  '  Might  not  a  man  warmed  with  wine  be 
like  a  bottle  of  beer,  which  is  made  brisker  by  being  set  before 
the  fire?' — 'Nay,  (said  Johnson,  laughing,)  I  cannot  answer 
that:  that  is  too  much  for  me.' 

I  observed,  that  wine  did  some  people  harm,  by  inflaming, 
confusing,  and  irritating  their  minds;  but  that  the  experi- 
ence of  mankind  had  declared  in  favour  of  moderate  drink- 
ing. Johnson.  'Sir,  I  do  not  say  it  is  wrong  to  produce 
self  complacency  by  drinking:  I  only  deny  that  it  improves 
the  mind.  When  I  drank  wine,  I  scorned  to  drink  it  when 
in  company.  I  have  drunk  many  a  bottle  by  myself;  in 
the  first  place,  because  I  had  need  of  it  to  raise  my  spirits; 


302  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

in  the  second  place,  because  I  would  have  nobody  to  witness 
its  effects  upon  me.' 

He  told  us,  'almost  all  his  Ramblers  were,  written  just  as 
they  were  wanted  for  the  press;  that  he  sent  a  certain  por- 
tion of  the  copy  of  an  essay,  and  wrote  the  remainder,  while 
the  former  part  of  it  was  printing.  When  it  was  wanted, 
and  he  had  fairly  sat  down  to  it,  he  was  sure  it  would  be 
done.' 

He  said,  that  for  general  improvement,  a  man  should  read 
whatever  his  immediate  inclination  prompts  him  to;  though, 
to  be  sure,  if  a  man  has  a  science  to  learn,  he  must  regularly 
and  resolutely  advance.  He  added,  'what  we  read  with 
inclination  makes  a  much  stronger  impression.  If  we  read 
without  inclination,  half  the  mind  is  employed  in  fixing  the 
attention;  so  there  is  but  one  half  to  be  employed  on  what 
we  read.'  He  told  us,  he  read  Fielding's  Amelia  through 
without  stopping.  He  said,  'if  a  man  begins  to  read  in  the 
middle  of  a  book,  and  feels  an  inclination  to  go  on,  let  him 
not  quit  it,  to  go  to  the  beginning.  He  may  perhaps  not  feel 
again  the  inclination.' 

Soon  after  this  day,  he  went  to  Bath  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Thrale.  I  had  never  seen  that  beautiful  city,  and  wished 
to  take  the  opportunity  of  visiting  it,  while  Johnson  was 
there. 

On  the  26th  of  April,  I  went  to  Bath;  and  on  my  arrival 
at  the  Pelican  inn,  found  lying  for  me  an  obliging  invitation 
from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  by  whom  I  was  agreeably  enter- 
tained almost  constantly  during  my  stay.  They  were  gone 
to  the  rooms;  but  there  was  a  kind  note  from  Dr.  Johnson, 
that  he  should  sit  at  home  all  the  evening.  I  went  to  him 
directly,  and  before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale  returned,  we  had 
by  ourselves  some  hours  of  tea-drinking  and  talk. 

I  shall  group  together  such  of  his  sayings  as  I  preserved 
during  the  few  days  that  I  was  at  Bath. 

It  having  been  mentioned,  I  know  not  with  what  truth, 
that  a  certain  female  political  writer,  whose  doctrines  he  dis- 
liked, had  of  late  become  very  fond  of  dress,  sat  hours  to- 
gether at  her  toilet,  and  even  put  on  rouge: — Johnson. 
'She  is  better  employed  at  her  toilet,  than  using  her  pen. 


1776]  AT  BRISTOL  303 

It  is  better  she  should  be  reddening  her  own  cheeks,  than 
blackening  other  people's  characters.' 

He  would  not  allow  me  to  praise  a  lady  then  at  Bath ;  ob- 
serving, 'She  does  not  gain  upon  me,  Sir;  I  think  her  empty- 
headed.'  He  was,  indeed,  a  stem  critick  upon  characters 
and  manners.  Even  Mrs.  Thrale  did  not  escape  his  friendly 
animadversion  at  times.  When  he  and  I  were  one  day 
endeavouring  to  ascertain,  article  by  article,  how  one  of  our 
friends  could  possibly  spend  as  much  money  in  his  family 
as  he  told  us  he  did,  she  interrupted  us  by  a  lively  extrav- 
agant sally,  on  the  exj^ence  of  clothing  his  children,  describ- 
ing it  in  a  very  ludicrous  and  fanciful  manner.  Johnson 
looked  a  Uttle  angry,  and  said,  '  Nay,  Madam,  when  you  are 
declaiming,  declaim;  and  when  you  are  calculating,  cal- 
culate.' At  another  time,  when  she  said,  perhaps  affectedly, 
*I  don't  like  to  fly.'  Johnson.  'With  your  wings.  Madam, 
you  must  fly:  but  have  a  care,  there  are  dippers  abroad.' 

On  Monday,  April  29,  he  and  I  made  an  excursion  to 
Bristol,  where  I  was  entertained  with  seeing  him  enquire 
upon  the  spot,  into  the  authenticity  of  'Rowley's  Poetry,' 
as  I  had  seen  him  enquire  upon  the  spot  into  the  authenticity 
of  'Ossian's  Poetry.'  George  Catcot,  the  pewterer,  who  was 
as  zealous  for  Rowley,  as  Dr.  Hugh  Blair  was  for  Ossian, 
(I  trust  my  Reverend  friend  will  excuse  the  comparison,) 
attended  us  at  our  inn,  and  with  a  triumphant  air  of  lively 
simpUcity  called  out,  'I'll  make  Dr.  Johnson  a  convert.' 
Dr.  Johnson,  at  his  desire,  read  aloud  some  of  Chatterton's 
fabricated  verses,  while  Catcot  stood  at  the  back  of  his  chair, 
mo\nng  himself  like  a  pendulum,  and  beating  time  with  his 
feet,  and  now  and  then  looking  into  Dr.  Johnson's  face, 
wondering  that  he  was  not  yet  convinced.  We  called  on  Mr. 
Barret,  the  surgeon,  and  saw  some  of  the  originals  as  they 
were  called,  which  were  executed  very  artificially;  but  from 
a  careful  inspection  of  them,  and  a  consideration  of  the  cir- 
cumstances with  which  they  were  attended,  we  were  quite  sat- 
isfied of  the  imposture,  which,  indeed,  has  been  clearly  dem- 
onstrated from  internal  evidence,  by  several  able  criticks. 

Honest  Catcot  seemed  to  pay  no  attention  whatever  to 
any  objections,  but  insisted,  as  an  end  of  all  controversy, 


304  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

that  we  should  go  with  him  to  the  tower  of  the  church  of 
St.  Mary,  Redcliff,  and  view  with  our  own  eyes  the  ancient 
chest  in  which  the  manuscripts  were  found.  To  this,  Dr. 
Johnson  good-naturedly  agreed;  and  though  troubled  with  a 
shortness  of  breathing,  laboured  up  a  long  flight  of  steps, 
till  we  came  to  the  place  where  the  wonderous  chest  stood. 
^  There,  (said  Catcot,  with  a  bouncing  confident  credulity,) 
there  is  the  very  chest  itself.'  After  this  ocular  demonstration, 
there  was  no  more  to  be  said;  He  brought  to  my  recollec- 
tion a  Scotch  Highlander,  a  man  of  learning  too,  and  who 
had  seen  the  world,  attesting,  and  at  the  same  time  giving 
his  reasons  for  the  authenticity  of  Fingal: — 'I  have  heard 
all  that  poem  when  I  was  young.' — 'Have  you.  Sir?  Pray 
what  have  you  heard?' — 'I  have  heard  Ossian,  Oscar,  and 
every  one  of  them.' 

Johnson  said  of  Chatterton,  'This  is  the  most  extraor- 
dinary young  man  that  has  encountered  my  knowledge.  It 
is  wonderful  how  the  whelp  has  written  such  things.' 

We  were  by  no  means  pleased  with  our  inn  at  Bristol. 
*Let  us  see  now,  (said  I,)  how  we  should  describe  it.'  John- 
son was  ready  with  his  raillery.  'Describe  it.  Sir? — Why,  it 
was  so  bad  that  Boswell  wished  to  be  in  Scotland ! ' 

After  Dr.  Johnson's  return  to  London,  I  was  several  times 
with  him  at  his  house,  where  I  occasionally  slept,  in  the 
room  that  had  been  assigned  to  me.  I  dined  with  him  at 
Dr.  Taylor's,  at  General  Oglethorpe's,  and  at  General  Paoli's. 
To  avoid  a  tedious  minuteness,  I  shall  group  together  what 
I  have  preserved  of  his  conversation  during  this  period  also, 
without  specifying  each  scene  where  it  passed,  except  one, 
which  will  be  found  so  remarkable  as  certainly  to  deserve 
a  very  particular  relation. 

'Garrick  (he  observed,)  does  not  play  the  part  of  Archer 
in  The  Beaux  Stratagem  well.  The  gentleman  should  break 
out  through  the  footman,  which  is  not  the  ca.se  as  he  does  it.' 

'That  man  is  never  happy  for  the  present  is  so  true,  that 
all  his  relief  from  unhappiness  is  only  forgetting  himself  for 
a  little  while.  Life  is  a  progress  from  want  to  want,  not 
from  enjoyment  to  enjoyment.' 

'Lord  Chesterfield's  Letters  to  his  Son,  I  think,  might  be 


17761  LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S  LETTERS       305 

made  a  very  pretty  book.  Take  out  the  immorality,  and  it 
should  be  put  into  the  hands  of  every  young  gentleman.  An 
elegant  manner  and  easiness  of  behaviour  are  acquired  grad- 
ually and  imperceptibly.  No  man  can  say  "I'll  be  genteel." 
There  are  ten  genteel  women  for  one  genteel  man,  because 
they  are  more  restrained.  A  man  without  some  degree  of 
restraint  is  insufferable;  but  we  are  all  less  restrained  than 
women.  Were  a  woman  sitting  in  company  to  put  out  her 
legs  before  her  as  most  men  do,  we  should  be  tempted  to 
kick  them  in.' 

No  man  was  a  more  attentive  and  nice  observer  of  beha- 
viour in  those  in  whose  company  he  happened  to  be,  than 
Johnson;  or,  however  strange  it  may  seem  to  many,  had 
a  higher  estimation  of  its  refinements.  Lord  Eliot  informs 
me,  that  one  day  when  Johnson  and  he  were  at  dinner  at 
a  gentleman's  house  in  London,  upon  Lord  Chesterfield's 
Letters  being  mentioned,  Johnson  surprized  the  company  by 
this  sentence:  'Every  man  of  any  education  would  rather 
be  called  a  rascal,  than  accused  of  deficiency,  in  the  graces.' 
Mr.  Gibbon,  who  was  present,  turned  to  a  lady  who  knew 
Johnson  well,  and  lived  much  with  him,  and  in  his  quaint 
manner,  tapping  his  box,  addressed  her  thus:  'Don't  you 
think.  Madam,  (looking  towards  Johnson,)  that  among  all 
your  acquaintance,  you  could  find  one  exception?'  The 
lady  smiled,  and  seemed  to  acquiesce. 

The  uncommon  vivacity  of  General  Oglethorpe's  mind, 
and  variety  of  knowledge,  having  sometimes  made  his  con- 
versation seem  too  desultory,  Johnson  observed,  '  Oglethorpe, 
Sir,  never  completes  what  he  has  to  say.' 

He  on  the  same  account  made  a  similar  remark  on  Patrick 
Lord  Elibank:   'Sir,  there  is  nothing  conclusive  in  his  talk.' 

When  I  complained  of  having  dined  at  a  splendid  table 
without  hearing  one  sentence  of  conversation  worthy  of 
being  remembered,  he  said,  'Sir,  there  seldom  is  any  such 
conversation.'  Boswell.  'Why  then  meet  at  table?' 
Johnson.  'Why,  to  eat  and  drink  together,  and  to  promote 
kindness;  and,  Sir,  this  is  better  done  when  there  is  no  solid 
conversation;  for  when  there  is,  people  differ  in  opinion, 
and  get  into  bad  humour,  or  some  of  the  company  who  are 


306  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1776 

not  capable  of  such  conversation,  are  left  out,  and  feel  them- 
selves uneasy.  It  was  for  this  reason,  Sir  Robert  Walpole 
said,  he  always  talked  bawdy  at  his  table,  because  in  that 
all  could  join.' 

Being  irritated  by  hearing  a  gentleman^  ask  Mr.  Levett 
a  variety  of  questions  concerning  him,  when  he  was  sitting 
by,  he  broke  out,  'Sir,  you  have  but  two  topicks,  yourself 
and  me.  I  am  sick  of  both.'  'A  man,  (said  he,)  should  not 
talk  of  himself,  nor  much  of  any  particular  person.  He 
should  take  care  not  to  be  made  a  proverb;  and,  therefore, 
should  avoid  having  any  one  topick  of  which  people  can  say, 
"We  shall  hear  him  up)on  it."  There  was  a  Dr.  Oldfield, 
who  was  always  talking  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.  He 
came  into  a  cofifee-house  one  day,  and  told  that  his  Grace 
had  spoken  in  the  House  of  Lords  for  half  an  hour.  "Did  he 
indeed  speak  for  half  an  hour?"  (said  Belchier,  the  surgeon,) 
—"Yes."— "And  what  did  he  say  of  Dr.  Oldfield?"— 
"Nothing." — "Why  then.  Sir,  he  was  very  ungrateful;  for 
Dr.  Oldfield  could  not  have  spoken  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
without  saying  something  of  him." ' 

I  am  now  to  record  a  very  curious  incident  in  Dr.  John- 
son's Life,  which  fell  under  my  own  observation;  of  which 
pars  magna  fui,  and  which  I  am  persuaded  will,  with  the 
liberal-minded,  be  much  to  his  credit. 

My  desire  of  being  acquainted  with  celebrated  men  of 
every  description,  had  made  me,  much  about  the  same  time, 
obtain  an  introduction  to  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  and  to  John 
Wilkes,  Esq.  Two  men  more  different  could  perhaps  not  be 
selected  out  of  all  mankind.  They  had  even  attacked  one 
another  with  some  asperity  in  their  writings ;  yet  I  lived  in 
habits  of  friendship  with  both.  I  could  fully  relish  the  ex- 
cellence of  each;  for  I  have  ever  delighted  in  that  intellec- 
tual chymistry,  which  can  separate  good  quaUties  from  evil 
in  the  same  person. 

Sir  John  Pringle,  'mine  own  friend  and  my  Father's 
friend,'  between  whom  and  Dr.  Johnson  I  in  vain  wished  to 
establish  an  acquaintance,  as  I  respected  and  lived  in  in- 
timacy with  both  of  them,  observed  to  me  once,  very  in- 

'  Most  likely  Boswell  himself. — Hill. 


17761  SIR  JOHN  PRINGLE  807 

gemously,  '  It  is  not  in  friendship  as  in  mathematicks,  where 
two  things,  each  equal  to  a  third,  are  equal  between  them- 
selves. You  agree  with  Johnson  as  a  middle  quality,  and 
you  agree  with  me  as  a  middle  quality;  but  Johnson  and 
I  should  not  agree.'  Sir  John  was  not  sufficiently  flexible; 
so  I  desisted ;  knowing,  indeed,  that  the  repulsion  was  equally 
strong  on  the  part  of  Johnson;  who,  I  know  not  from  what 
cause,  unless  his  being  a  Scotchman,  had  formed  a  very 
erroneous  opinion  of  Sir  John.  But  I  conceived  an  irresistible 
wish,  if  possible,  to  bring  Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Wilkes  to- 
gether.    How  to  manage  it,  was  a  nice  and  difficult  matter. 

My  worthy  booksellers  and  friends.  Messieurs  Dilly  in  the 
Poultry,  at  whose  hospitable  and  well-covered  table  I  have 
seen  a  greater  number  of  literary  men,  than  at  any  other, 
except  that  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  had  invited  me  to  meet 
Mr.  Wilkes  and  some  more  gentlemen  on  Wednesday,  May 
15.  'Pray  (said  I,)  let  us  have  Dr.  Johnson.' — 'What  with 
Mr.  Wilkes?  not  for  the  world,  (said  Mr.  Edward  Dilly:) 
Dr.  Johnson  would  never  forgive  me.' — 'Come,  (said  I,)  if 
you'll  let  me  negociate  for  you,  I  Avill  be  answerable  that  all 
shall  go  well.'  Dilly.  'Nay,  if  you  will  take  it  upon  you, 
I  am  sure  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  see  them  both  here.' 

Notwithstanding  the  high  veneration  which  I  entertained 
for  Dr.  Johnson,  I  was  sensible  that  he  was  sometimes  a  little 
actuated  by  the  spirit  of  contradiction,  and  by  means  of  that 
I  hoped  I  should  gain  my  point.  I  was  persuaded  that  if 
I  had  come  upon  him  with  a  direct  proposal,  'Sir,  will  you 
dine  in  company  with  Jack  Wilkes?'  he  would  have  flown 
into  a  passion,  and  would  probably  have  answered,  'Dine 
with  Jack  Wilkes,  Sir !  I'd  as  soon  dine  with  Jack  Ketch.' 
I  therefore,  while  we  were  sitting  quieth'  by  ourselves  at  his 
house  in  an  evening,  took  occasion  to  open  my  plan  thus: — 
'Mr.  Dilly,  Sir,  sends  his  respectful  compliments  to  you,  and 
would  be  happy  if  you  would  do  him  the  honour  to  dine  with 
him  on  Wednesday  next  along  with  me,  as  I  must  soon  go  to 
Scotland.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  I  am  obliged  to  Mr.  Dilly.  I 
will  wait  upon  him — '  Boswell.  'Provided,  Sir,  I  suppose, 
that  the  company  which  he  is  to  have,  is  agreeable  to  you.' 
Johnson.     'What  do  you  mean,  Sir?    What  do  you  take  me 


308  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

for?  Do  you  think  I  am  so  ignorant  of  the  world  as  to 
imagine  that  I  am  to  prescribe  to  a  gentleman  what  company 
he  is  to  have  at  his  table ? '  Boswell.  'I  beg  your  pardon, 
Sir,  for  wishing  to  prevent  you  from  meeting  people  whom 
you  might  not  like.  Perhaps  he  may  have  some  of  what  he 
calls  his  patriotick  friends  with  him.'  Johnson.  'Well, 
Sir,  and  what  then  ?  What  care  /  for  his  patriotick  friends  f 
Poh!'  Boswell.'  'I  should  not  be  surprized  to  find  Jack 
Wilkes  there.'  Johnson.  'And  if  Jack  Wilkes  should  be 
there,  what  is  that  to  nie,  Sir?  My  dear  friend,  let  us  have 
no  more  of  this.  I  am  sorry  to  be  angry  with  you ;  but  really 
it  is  treating  me  strangely  to  talk  to  me  as  if  I  could  not  meet 
any  company  whatever,  occasionally.'  Boswell.  'Pray 
forgive  me,  Sir:  I  meant  well.  But  you  shall  meet  whoever 
comes,  for  me.'  Thus  I  secured  him,  and  told  Dilly  that  he 
would  find  him  very  well  pleased  to  be  one  of  his  guests  on 
the  day  appointed. 

Upon  the  much-expected  Wednesday,  I  called  on  him 
about  half  an  hour  before  dinner,  as  I  often  did  when  we  were 
to  dine  out  together,  to  see  that  he  was  ready  in  time,  and  to 
accompany  him.  I  found  him  buffeting  his  books,  as  upon 
a  former  occasion,  covered  with  dust,  and  making  no  prep- 
aration for  going  abroad.  'How  is  this.  Sir?  (said  I.) 
Don't  you  recollect  that  you  are  to  dine  at  Mr.  Dilly's?* 
Johnson.  'Sir,  I  did  not  think  of  going  to  Dilly 's:  it  went 
out  of  my  head.  I  have  ordered  dinner  at  home  with  Mrs. 
Williams.'  Boswell.  'But,  my  dear  Sir,  you  know  you 
were  engaged  to  Mr.  Dilly,  and  I  told  him  so.  He  will  ex- 
pect you,  and  will  be  much  disappointed  if  you  don't  come.* 
Johnson.     'You  must  talk  to  Mrs.  Williams  about  this.' 

Here  was  a  sad  dilemma.  I  feared  that  what  I  was  so 
confident  I  had  secured  would  yet  be  frustrated.  He  had 
accustomed  himself  to  shew  Mrs.  Williams  such  a  degree  of 
humane  attention,  as  frequently  imposed  some  restraint 
upon  him;  and  I  knew  that  if  she  should  be  obstinate,  he 
would  not  stir.  I  hastened  down  stairs  to  the  blind  lady's 
room,  and  told  her  I  was  in  great  uneasiness,  for  Dr.  John- 
son had  engaged  to  me  to  dine  this  day  at  Mr.  Dilly's,  but 
that  he  had  told  me  he  had  forgotten  his  engagement,  and 


1776]  DINING  WITH  JACK  WILKES  309 

had  ordered  dinner  at  home.  'Yes,  Sir,  (said  she,  pretty 
peevishly,)  Dr.  Johnson  is  to  dine  at  home.' — 'Madam,  (said 
I,)  his  respect  for  you  is  such,  that  I  know  he  will  not  leave 
you  unless  you  absolutely  desire  it.  But  as  you  have  so 
much  of  his  company,  I  hope  you  will  be  good  enough  to 
forego  it  for  a  day;  as  Mr.  Dilly  is  a  very  worthy  man,  has 
frequently  had  agreeable  parties  at  his  house  for  Dr.  John.son, 
and  will  be  vexed  if  the  Doctor  neglects  him  to-day.  And 
then,  Madam,  be  pleased  to  consider  my  situation;  I  carried 
the  message,  and  I  assured  Mr.  Dilly  that  Dr.  Johnson  was 
to  come,  and  no  doubt  he  has  made  a  dinner,  and  invited  a 
company,  and  boasted  of  the  honour  he  expected  to  have. 
I  shall  be  quite  disgraced  if  the  Doctor  is  not  there.'  She 
gradually  softened  to  my  solicitations,  which  were  certainly 
as  earnest  as  most  entreaties  to  ladies  upon  any  occasion, 
and  was  graciously  pleased  to  empower  me  to  tell  Dr.  John- 
son, 'That  all  things  considered,  she  thought  he  should  cer- 
tainly go.'  I  flew  back  to  him,  still  in  dust,  and  careless  of 
what  should  be  the  event,  'indifferent  in  his  choice  to  go  or 
stay;'  but  as  soon  as  I  had  announced  to  him  Mrs.  Williams' 
consent,  he  roared,  'Frank,  a  clean  shirt,'  and  was  verj^  soon 
drest.  When  I  had  him  fairly  seated  in  a  hackney-coach  with 
me,  I  exulted  as  much  as  a  fortune-hunter  who  has  got  an 
heiress  into  a  post-chaise  with  him  to  set  out  for  .Gretna- 
Green. 

WTien  we  entered  Mr.  Dilly's  drawing  room,  he  found  him- 
self in  the  midst  of  a  company  he  did  not  know.  I  kept  my- 
self snug  and  silent,  watching  how  he  would  conduct  himself. 
I  observed  him  whispering  to  Mr.  Dilly,  '  Who  is  that  gentle- 
man, Sir?' — 'Mr.  Arthur  Lee.' — ^Johnson.  'Too,  too,  too,' 
(under  his  breath,)  which  was  one  of  his  habitual  mutterings. 
Mr.  Arthur  Lee  could  not  but  be  very  obnoxious  to  Johnson, 
for  he  was  not  only  a  patriot  but  an  American.  He  was  after- 
wards minister  from  the  United  States  at  the  court  of  Madrid. 
'And  who  is  the  gentleman  in  lace?' — 'Mr.  Wilkes,  Sir.' 
This  information  confounded  him  still  more;  he  had  some 
difficulty  to  restrain  himself,  and  taking  up  a  book,  sat  down 
upon  a  window-seat  and  read,  or  at  least  kept  his  eye  upon 
it  intently  for  some  time,  till  he  composed  himself.    His 


310  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [me 

feelings,  I  dare  say,  were  aukward  enough.  But  he  no  doubt 
recollected  his  having  rated  me  for  supposing  that  he  could 
be  at  all  disconcerted  by  any  company,  and  he,  therefore, 
resolutely  set  himself  to  behave  quite  as  an  easy  man  of  the 
world,  who  could  adapt  himself  at  once  to  the  disposition  and 
manners  of  those  whom  he  might  chance  to  meet. 

The  cheering  sound  of  'Dinner  is  upon  the  table,'  dissolved 
his  reverie,  and  we  aU  sat  down  without  any  symptom  of  ill 
humour.  There  were  present,  beside  Mr.  Wilkes,  and  Mr. 
Arthur  Lee,  who  was  an  old  companion  of  mine  when  he 
studied  physick  at  Edinburgh,  Mr.  (now  Sir  John)  Miller, 
Dr.  Lettsom,  and  Mr.  Slater  the  druggist.  Mr.  Wilkes 
placed  himself  next  to  Dr.  Johnson,  and  behaved  to  him  with 
so  much  attention  and  politeness,  that  he  gained  upon  him 
insensibly.  No  man  eat  more  heartily  than  Johnson,  or  loved 
better  what  was  nice  and  delicate.  Mr.  Wilkes  was  very 
assiduous  in  helping  him  to  some  fine  veal.  'Pray  give  me 
leave.  Sir: — It  is  better  here — A  little  of  the  brown — Some 
fat,  Sir — A  little  of  the  stuffing — Some  gravy — Let  me  have 
the  pleasure  of  giving  you  some  butter — ^Allow  me  to  recom- 
mend a  squeeze  of  this  orange; — or  the  lemon,  jjerhaps, 
may  have  more  zest.' — 'Sir,  Sir,  I  am  obliged  to  you,  Sir,' 
cried  Johnson,  bowing,  and  turning  his  head  to  him  with  a 
look  for. some  time  of  'surly  virtue,'  but,  in  a  short  while,  of 
complacency. 

Foote  being  mentioned,  Johnson  said,  'He  is  not  a  good 
mimick.'  One  of  the  company  added,  'A  merry  Andrew, 
a  buffoon.'  Johnson.  'But  he  has  wit  too,  and  is  not  defi- 
cient in  ideas,  or  in  fertility  and  variety  of  imagery,  and  not 
empty  of  reading;  he  has  knowledge  enough  to  fill  up  his 
part.  One  species  of  wit  he  has  in  an  eminent  degree,  that 
of  escape.  You  drive  him  into  a  corner  with  both  hands; 
but  he's  gone.  Sir,  when  you  think  you  have  got  him — like 
an  animal  that  jumps  over  your  head.  Then  he  has  a  great 
range  for  wit;  he  never  lets  truth  stand  between  him  and 
a  jest,  and  he  is  sometimes  mighty  coarse.  Garrick  is  under 
many  restraints  from  which  Foote  is  free.'  Wilkes.  'Gar- 
rick's  wit  is  more  like  Lord  Chesterfield's.'  Johnson.  'The 
first  time  I  was  in  company  with  Foote  was  at  Fitzherbert's. 


1776]  FOOTE'S  IRRESISTIBILITY  311 

Having  no  good  opinion  of  the  fellow,  I  was  resolvea  not  to 
be  pleased;  and  it  is  very  difficult  to  please  a  man  against 
his  will.  I  went  on  eating  my  dinner  pretty  sullenly,  af- 
fecting not  to  mind  him.  But  the  dog  was  so  very  comical, 
that  I  was  obliged  to  lay  down  my  knife  and  fork,  throw  my- 
self back  upon  my  chair,  and  fairly  laugh  it  out.  No,  Sir, 
he  was  irresistible.  He  upon  one  occasion  experienced,  in 
an  extraordinary  degree,  the  efficacy  of  his  powers  of  enter- 
taining. Amongst  the  many  and  various  modes  which  he 
tried  of  getting  money,  he  became  a  partner  with  a  small- 
beer  brewer,  and  he  was  to  have  a  share  of  the  profits  for 
procuring  customers  amongst  his  numerous  acquaintance- 
Fitzherbert  was  one  who  took  his  small-beer;  but  it  was  so 
bad  that  the  servants  resolved  not  to  drink  it.  They  were 
at  some  loss  how  to  notify  their  resolution,  being  afraid  of 
offending  their  master,  who  they  knew  liked  Foote  much  as 
a  companion.  At  last  they  fixed  upon  a  httle  black  boy, 
who  was  rather  a  favourite,  to  be  their  deputy,  and  deliver 
their  remonstrance;  and  having  invested  him  with  the  whole 
authority  of  the  kitchen,  he  was  to  inform  Mr.  Fitzherbert, 
in  all  their  names,  upon  a  certain  day,  that  they  would  drink 
Foote's  small-beer  no  longer.  On  that  day  Foote  happened 
to  dine  at  Fitzherbert 's,  and  this  boy  served  at  table;  he 
was  so  delighted  with  Foote's  stories,  and  merriment,  and 
grimace,  that  when  he  went  down  stairs,  he  told  them, 
"This  is  the  finest  man  I  have  ever  seen.  I  will  not  deliver 
your  message.     I  will  drink  his  small-beer.'" 

Somebody  observed  that  Garrick  could  not  have  done 
this.  Wilkes.  'Garrick  would  have  made  the  small-beer 
still  smaller.  He  is  now  leaving  the  stage;  but  he  will  play 
Scrub  all  his  life.'  I  knew  that  Johnson  would  let  nobody 
attack  Garrick  but  himself,  as  Garrick  once  said  to  me,  and 
I  had  heard  him  praise  his  liberality;  so  to  bring  out  his 
commendation  of  his  celebrated  pupil,  I  said,  loudly,  'I  have 
heard  Garrick  is  liberal.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  I  know  that 
Garrick  has  given  away  more  money  than  any  man  in  Eng- 
land that  I  am  acquainted  with,  and  that  not  from  ostenta- 
tious views.  Garrick  was  very  poor  when  he  began  life;  so 
when  he  came  to  have  money,  he  probably  was  very  unskil- 


312  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

ful  in  giving  away,  and  saved  when  he  should  not.  But 
■Garrick  began  to  be  liberal  as  soon  as  he  could;  and  I  am 
of  opinion,  the  reputation  of  avarice  which  he  has  had,  has 
been  very  lucky  for  him,  and  prevented  his  having  many 
enemies.  You  despise  a  man  for  avarice,  but  do  not  hate 
him.  Garrick  might  have  been  much  better  attacked  for 
living  with  more  splendour  than  is  suitable  to  a  player:  if 
they  had  had  the  wit  to  have  assaulted  him  in  that  quarter, 
they  might  have  galled  him  more.  But  they  have  kept 
clamouring  about  his  avarice,  which  has  rescued  him  from 
much  obloquy  and  envy.' 

Talking  of  the  great  difficulty  of  obtaining  authentick  in- 
formation for  biography,  Johnson  told  us,  'When  I  was  a 
young  fellow  I  wanted  to  write  the  Life  oj  Drrjden,  and  in 
order  to  get  materials,  I  applied  to  the  only  two  persons  then 
alive  who  had  seen  him;  these  were  old  Swinney,  and  old 
Cibber.  Swinney's  information  was  no  more  than  this, 
"That  at  Will's  coffee-house  Dryden  had  a  particular  chair 
for  himself,  which  was  set  by  the  fire  in  winter,  and  was  then 
called  his  winter-chair;  and  that  it  was  carried  out  for  him 
to  the  balcony  in  summer,  and  was  then  called  his  summer- 
chair."  Cibber  could  tell  no  more  but  "  That  he  remembered 
him  a  decent  old  man,  arbiter  of  critical  disputes  at  Will's." 
You  are  to  consider  that  Cibber  was  then  at  a  great  distance 
from  Dryden,  had  perhaps  one  leg  only  in  the  room,  and 
durst  not  draw  in  the  other.'  Boswell.  'Yet  Cibber  was 
a  man  of  observation?'  Johnson.  'I  think  not.'  Bos- 
well. 'You  will  allow  his  A po^o^y  to  be  well  done.'  John- 
son. 'Very  well  done,  to  be  sure.  Sir.  That  book  is  a 
striking  proof  of  the  justice  of  Pope's  remark: 

"Each  might  his  several  province  well  command, 
Would  all  biit  stoop  to  what  they  understand.'" 

Boswell.  'And  his  plays  are  good.'  Johnson.  'Yes;  but 
that  was  his  trade;  V esprit  du  corps  :  he  had  been  all  his  life 
among  players  and  play-writers.  I  wondered  that  he  had  so 
little  to  say  in  conversation,  for  he  had  kept  the  best  com- 
pany, and  learnt  all  that  can  be  got  by  the  ear.  He  abused 
Pindar  to  me,  and  then  shewed  me  an  Ode  of  his  own,  with 
an  absurd  couplet,  making  a  linnet  soar  on  an  eagle's  wing. 


1776J  SCOTLAND  3ia 

I  told  him  that  when  the  ancients  made  a  simile,  they  always 
made  it  like  something  real.' 

Mr.  Wilkes  remarked,  that  'among  all  the  bold  flights  of 
Shakspeare's  imagination,  the  boldest  was  making  Birnam- 
wood  march  to  Dunsinane;  creating  a  wood  where  there 
never  was  a  shrub;  a  wood  in  Scotland !  ha !  ha !  ha ! '  And 
he  also  observed,  that '  the  clannish  slavery  of  the  Highlands 
of  Scotland  was  the  single  exception  to  Milton's  remark  of 
"The  Mountain  Nymph,  sweet  Liberty,"  being  worshipped 
in  all  hilly  countries.' — 'When  I  was  at  Inverary  (said  he,) 
on  a  visit  to  my  old  friend,  Archibald,  Duke  of  Argyle,  his- 
dependents  congratulated  me  on  being  such  a  favourite  of 
his  Grace.  I  said,  "It  is  then,  gentlemen,  truely  lucky  for 
me;  for  if  I  had  displeased  the  Duke,  and  he  had  wished  it^ 
there  is  not  a  Campbell  among  you  but  would  have  been 
ready  to  bring  John  Wilkes's  head  to  him  in  a  charger.  It 
would  have  been  only 

"Off  with  his  head!     So  much  for  Aylesbury." 

I  was  then  member  for  Aylesbury.' 

Mr.  Arthur  Lee  mentioned  some  Scotch  who  had  taken 
possession  of  a  barren  part  of  America,  and  wondered  why 
they  should  choose  it.  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  all  barren- 
ness is  comparative.  The  Scotch  would  not  know  it  to  be 
barren.'  Boswell.  'Come,  come,  he  is  flattering  the  Eng- 
lish. You  have  now  been  in  Scotland,  Sir,  and  say  if  you 
did  not  see  meat  and  drink  enough  there.'  Johnson.  'Why 
yes,  Sir;  meat  and  drink  enough  to  give  the  enhabitante 
sufficient  strength  to  run  away  from  home.'  All  these  quick 
and  hvely  sallies  were  said  sportively,  quite  in  jest,  and  with 
a  smile,  which  showed  that  he  meant  only  wit.  Upon  this 
topick  he  and  Mr.  Wilkes  could  perfectly  assimilate;  here 
was  a  bond  of  union  between  them,  and  I  was  conscious  that 
as  both  of  them  had  visited  Caledonia,  both  were  fully  satis- 
fied of  the  strange  narrow  ignorance  of  those  who  imagine 
that  it  is  a  land  of  famine.  But  they  amused  themselves 
with  persevering  in  the  old  jokes.  When  I  claimed  a  superi- 
ority for  Scotland  over  England  in  one  respect,  that  no  man 
can  be  arrested  there  for  a  debt  merely  because  another 
swears  it  against  him;  but  there  must  first  be  the  judgement 


314  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i776 

of  a  court  of  law  ascertaining  its  justice;  and  that  a  seizure 
of  the  person,  before  judgement  is  obtained,  can  take  place 
only,  if  his  creditor  should  swear  that  he  is  about  to  fly  from 
the  country,  or,  as  it  is  technically  expressed,  is  in  meditatione 
fugoe:  Wilkes.  'That,  I  should  think,  may  be  safely  sworn 
of  all  the  Scotch  nation.'  Johnson,  (to  Mr.  Wilkes,)  'You 
must  know,  Sir,  I  lately  took  my  friend  Boswell  and  shewed 
him  genuine  civilised  life  in  an  English  provincial  town.  I 
turned  him  loose  at  Lichfield,  my  native  city,  that  he  might 
see  for  once  real  civility:  for  you  know  he  lives  among  sav- 
ages in  Scotland,  and  among  rakes  in  London.'  Wilkes. 
*  Except  when  he  is  with  grave,  sober,  decent  people  Uke  you 
and  me.'    Johnson,  (smiling,)  'And  we  ashamed  of  him.' 

They  were  quite  frank  and  easy.  Johnson  told  the  story 
of  his  asking  Mrs.  Macaulay  to  allow  her  footman  to  sit 
down  with  them,  to  prove  the  ridiculousness  of  the  argument 
for  the  equality  of  mankind;  and  he  said  to  me  afterwards, 
with  a  nod  of  satisfaction,  'You  saw  Mr.  Wilkes  acquiesced.' 
Wilkes  talked  with  all  imaginable  freedom  of  the  ludicrous 
title  given  to  the  Attorney-General,  Diabolus  Regis;  adding, 
*I  have  reason  to  know  something  about  that  officer;  for 
I  was  prosecuted  for  a  libel.'  Johnson,  who  many  people 
would  have  supposed  must  have  been  furiously  angry  at 
hearing  this  talked  of  so  lightly,  said  not  a  word.  He  was 
now,  indeed,  'a  good-humoured  fellow.' 

After  dinner  we  had  an  accession  of  Mrs.  Knowles,  the 
Quaker  lady,  well  known  for  her  various  talents,  and  of  Mr. 
Alderman  Lee.  Amidst  some  patriotick  groans,  somebody 
(I  think  the  Alderman)  said,  'Poor  old  England  is  lost.' 
Johnson.  'Sir,  it  is  not  so  much  to  be  lamented  that  Old 
England  is  lost,  as  that  the  Scotch  have  found  it.'  Wilkes. 
'Had  Lord  Bute  governed  Scotland  only,  I  should  not  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  write  his  eulogy,  and  dedicate  Mortimer 
to  him.' 

Mr.  Wilkes  held  a  candle  to  shew  a  fine  print  of  a  beautiful 
female  figure  which  hung  in  the  room,  and  pointed  out  the 
elegant  contour  of  the  bosom  with  the  finger  of  an  arch  con- 
noisseur. He  afterwards,  in  a  conversation  with  me,  wag- 
gishly insisted,  that  all  the  time  Johnson  shewed  visible 


17761  EPITAPH  ON  GOLDSMITH  315 

signs  of  a  fervent  admiration  of  the  corresponding  ciiarms 
of  the  fair  Quaker. 

This  record,  though  by  no  means  so  perfect  as  I  could  wish, 
will  serve  to  give  a  notion  of  a  very  curious  interview,  which 
was  not  only  pleasing  at  the  time,  but  had  the  agreeable  and 
benignant  effect  of  reconciling  any  animosity,  and  sweeten- 
ing any  acidity,  which  in  the  various  bustle  of  political  contest, 
had  been  produced  in  the  minds  of  two  men,  who  though 
widely  different,  had  so  many  things  in  common — classical 
learning,  modern  literature,  wit,  and  humour,  and  ready 
repartee — that  it  would  have  been  much  to  be  regretted  if 
they  had  been  for  ever  at  a  distance  from  each  other. 

Mr.  Burke  gave  me  much  credit  for  this  successful  nego- 
ciation;  and  pleasantly  said,  that  'there  was  nothing  to 
equal  it  in  the  whole  history  of  the  Corps  Diplomatique.' 

I  attended  Dr.  Johnson  home,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to 
hear  him  tell  Mrs.  Williams  how  much  he  had  been  pleased 
with  Mr.  Wilkes's  company,  and  what  an  agreeable  day  he 
had  passed. 

I  talked  a  good  deal  to  him  of  the  celebrated  Margaret 
CaroUne  Rudd,  whom  I  had  visited,  induced  by  the  fame  of 
her  talents,  address,  and  irresistible  power  of  fascination. 
To  a  lady  who  disapproved  of  my  visiting  her,  he  said  on 
a  former  occasion,  'Nay,  Madam,  Boswell  is  in  the  right; 
I  should  have  visited  her  myself,  were  it  not  that  they  have 
now  a  trick  of  putting  every  thing  into  the  news-papers.' 
This  evening  he  exclaimed,  'I  envy  him  his  acquaintance 
with  Mrs.  Rudd.' 

On  the  evening  of  the  next  day  I  took  leave  of  him,  being 
to  set  out  for  Scotland.  I  thanked  him  with  great  warmth 
for  all  his  kindness.  'Sir,  (said  he,)  you  are  very  welcome. 
Nobody  repays  it  with  more.' 

The  following  letters  concerning  an  Epitaph  which  he 
wrote  for  the  monument  of  Dr.  Goldsmith,  in  Westminster- 
Abbey,  afford  at  once  a  proof  of  his  unaffected  modesty, 
his  carelessness  as  to  his  own  writings,  and  of  the  great  re- 
sp>ect  which  he  entertained  .for  the  taste  and  judgement  of 
the  excellent  and  eminent  person  to  whom  they  m«  ad- 
dressed: 


316  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  (1776 

'To  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

Deab  Sir, — I  have  been  kept  away  from  you,  I  know  not 
well  how,  and  of  these  vexatious  hindrances  I  know  not 
when  there  will  be  an  end.  I  therefore  send  you  the  poor 
dear  Doctor's  epitaph.  Read  it  first  yourself;  and  if  you 
then  think  it  right,  shew  it  to  the  Club.  I  am,  you  know, 
willing  to  be  corrected.  If  you  think  any  thing  much  amiss, 
keep  it  to  yourself,  till  we  come  together.  I  have  sent  two 
copies,  but  prefer  the  card.  The  dates  must  be  settled  by 
Dr.  Percy.     I  am.  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'May  16,  1776.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

It  was,  I  think,  after  I  had  left  London  this  year,  that  this 
Epitaph  gave  occasion  to  a  Remonstrance  to  the  Monarch  of 
Literature,  for  an  account  of  which  I  am  indebted  to  Sir 
William  Forbes,  of  Pitsligo. 

That  my  readers  may  have  the  subject  more  fully  and 
clearly  before  them,  I  shall  first  insert  the  Epitaph. 

Olivarii  Goldsmith, 

Poetce,  Physici,  Historici, 

Qui  nullum  ferb  scribendi  gemis 

Non  tetigit, 

Nullum  quod  tetigit  non  omavit : 

Sive  risu^  essent  movendi, 

Sive  lacrymae, 

Affectuum  potens  at  lenis  dominator: 

Ingenio  sublimis,  vividus,  versalilis, 

Oratione  grandis,  nitidus,  venustus: 

Hoc  monumento  memoriam  coluii  , 

Sodalium  amor, 

Amicorum  fides, 

Lectorum  veneratio. 

Naiv^  in  Hibemid  Fomice  LongfordiensiSy 

In  loco  cui  nomen  Pallas, 

Nov.  XXIX.  MDCcxxxi; 

Ehlanoe  Uteris  institvius; 

Obiit  Londini, 
April  IV,  MDCCLXxiv.' 


1776]  THE  ROUND  ROBIN  317 

Sir  William  Forbes  writes  to  me  thus: — 

*I  enclose  the  Round  Robin.  This  jeu  d'esprit  took  its 
rise  one  day  at  dinner  at  our  friend  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's. 
All  the  company  present,  except  myself,  were  friends  and 
acquaintance  of  Dr.  Goldsmith.  'The  Epitaph,  written  for 
him  by  Dr.  Johnson,  became  the  subject  of  conversation, 
and  various  emendations  were  suggested,  which  it  was  agreed 
should  be  submitted  to  the  Doctor's  consideration.  But  the 
question  was,  who  should  have  the  courage  to  propose  them 
to  him?  At  last  it  was  hinted,  that  there  could  be  no  way 
so  good  as  that  of  a  Round  Robin,  as  the  sailors  call  it,  which 
they  make  use  of  when  they  enter  into  a  conspiracy,  so  as 
not  to  let  it  be  known  who  puts  his  name  first  or  last  to  the 
paper.  This  proposition  was  instantly  assented  to;  and 
Dr.  Barnard,  Dean  of  Derrj',  now  Bishop  of  Killaloe,  drew 
up  an  address  to  Dr.  Johnson  on  the  occasion,  replete  with 
wit  and  humour,  but  which  it  was  feared  the  Doctor  might 
think  treated  the  subject  with  too  much  levity.  Mr.  Burke 
then  proposed  the  address  as  it  stands  in  the  paper  in  writing, 
to  which  I  had  the  honour  to  officiate  as  clerk. 

'Sir  Joshua  agreed  to  carry  it  to  Dr.  Johnson,  who  re- 
ceived it  with  much  good  humour,^  and  desired  Sir  Joshua 
to  tell  the  gentlemen,  that  he  would  alter  the  Epitaph  in  any 
manner  they  pleased,  as  to  the  sense  of  it;  but  he  would 
never  consent  to  disgrace  the  walls  of  Westminster  Abbey  with 
an  English  inscription. 

'I  consider  this  Round  Robin  as  a  sj)ecies  of  literary  curi- 
osity worth  preserving,  as  it  marks,  in  a  certain  degree,  Dr. 
Johnson's  character.' 

1  He  however,  upon  seeing  Dr.  Warton's  name  to  the  suggestion,  that 
the'Epitaph  should  be  in  English,  observed  to  Sir  Joshua,  'I  wonder 
that  Joe  Warton,  a  scholar  by  profession,  should  be  such  a  fool.'  He 
said  too,  '  I  should  have  thought  Miuid  Burke  would  have  had  more 
sense.'  Mr.  Langton,  who  was  one  of  the  company  at  Sir  Joshua's, 
like  a  sturdy  scholar,  resolutely  refused  to  sign  the  Round  Robin.  The 
Epitaph  is  engraved  upon  Dr.  Goldsmith's  monument  without  any 
alteration.  At  another  time,  when  somebody  endeavoured  to  argue 
in  favour  of  its  being  in  English,  Johnson  said,  'The  language  of  the 
country  of  which  a  learned  man  was  a  native,  is  not  the  language 
flt  for  his  epitaph,  which  should  be  in  ancient  and  permanent  langiiage. 
Consider,  Sir;  how  you  should  feel,  were  you  to  find  at  Rotterdam  an 
epitaph  upon  Erasmus  in  Dutch!' — BoawsLU 


318  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1776 

Sir  William  Forbes's  observation  is  very  just.  The  anec- 
dote now  related  proves,  in  the  strongest  manner,  the  rever- 
ence and  awe  with  which  Johnson  was  regarded,  by  some  of 
the  most  eminent  men  of  his  time,  in  various  departments, 
and  even  by  such  of  them  as  lived  most  with  him;  while  it 
also  confirms  what  I  have  again  and  again  inculcated,  that 
he  was  by  no  means  of  that  ferocious  and  irascible  character 
which  has  been  ignorantly  imagined. 

This  hasty  composition  is  also  to  be  remarked  as  one  of 
a  thousand  instances  which  evince  the  extraordinary  prompt- 
itude of  Mr.  Burke;  who  while  he  is  equal  to  the  greatest 
things,  can  adorn  the  least;  can,  with  equal  facility,  embrace 
the  vast  and  complicated  speculations  of  politicks,  or  the 
ingenious  topicks  of  literary  investigation. 

'Dr.  Johnson  to  Mrs.  Boswell. 

*  Mad  AM, — ^You  must  not  think  me  uncivil  in  omitting  to 
answer  the  letter  with  which  you  favoured  me  some  time 
ago.  I  imagined  it  to  have  been  written  without  Mr.  Bos- 
well's  knowledge,  and  therefore  supposed  the  answer  to 
require,  what  I  could  not  find,  a  private  conveyance. 

'The  difference  with  Lord  Auchinleck  is  now  over;  and 
since  young  Alexander  has  appeared,  I  hope  no  more  diffi- 
culties will  arise  among  you;  for  I  sincerely  wish  you  all 
happy.  Do  not  teach  the  young  ones  to  dislike  me,  as  you 
dislike  me  yourself;  but  let  me  at  least  have  Veronica's 
kindness,  because  she  is  my  acquaintance. 

'You  will  now  have  Mr.  Boswell  home;  it  is  well  that  you 
have  him;  he  has  led  a  wild  life.  I  have  taken  him  to  Lich- 
field, and  he  has  followed  Mr.  Thrale  to  Bath.  Pray  take 
care  of  him,  and  tame  him.  The  only  thing  in  which  I  have 
the  honour  to  agree  with  you  is,  in  loving  him;  and  while  we 
are  so  much  of  a  mind  in  a  matter  of  so  much  importance, 
our  other  quarrels  will,  I  hope,  produce  no  great  bitterness. 
I  am.  Madam,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'May  16,  1776.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

I  select  from  his  private  register  the  following  passage: 
^July  25,  1776.     0  God,  who  hast  ordained  that  whatever 


17771  SURVEY  OF  PAST  LIFE  319 

is  to  be  desired  should  be  sought  by  labour,  and  who,  by  thy 
blessing,  bringest  honest  labour  to  good  effect,  look  with 
mercy  upon  my  studies  and  endeavours.  Grant  me,  O  Lord, 
to  design  only  what  is  lawful  and  right;  and  afford  me 
calmness  of  mind,  and  steadiness  of  purpose,  that  I  may  so 
do  thy  will  in  this  short  life,  as  to  obtain  happiness  in  the 
world  to  come,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 
Amen.' 

It  appears  from  a  note  subjoined,  that  this  was  composed 
when  he  'purposed  to  apply  vigorously  to  study,  particu- 
larly of  the  Greek  and  Italian  tongues.' 

Such  a  purpose,  so  expressed,  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven, 
is  admirable  and  encouraging;  and  it  must  impress  all  the 
thinking  part  of  my  readers  with  a  consolatory  confidence  in 
habitual  devotion,  when  they  see  a  man  of  such  enlarged 
intellectual  powers  as  Johnson,  thus  in  the  genuine  earnest- 
ness of  secrecy,  imploring  the  aid  of  that  Supreme  Being, 
'from  whom  cometh  down  every  good  and  every  perfect  gift.' 

1777:  ^TAT.  68.] — In  1777,  it  appears  from  his  Prayers 
and  Meditations,  that  Johnson  suffered  much  from  a  state 
of  mind  'unsettled  and  perplexed,'  and  from  that  constitu- 
tional gloom,  which,  together  with  his  extreme  humility  and 
anxiety  with  regard  to  his  religious  state,  made  him  contem- 
plate himself  through  too  dark  and  unfavourable  a  medium. 
It  may  be  said  of  him,  that  he  'saw  God  in  clouds.'  Certain 
we  may  be  of  his  injustice  to  himself  in  the  following  lament- 
able paragraph,  which  it  is  painful  to  think  came  from  the 
contrite  heart  of  this  great  man,  to  whose  labours  the  world 
is  so  much  indebted:  'When  I  survey  my  past  life,  I  dis- 
cover nothing  but  a  barren  waste  of  time,  with  some  dis- 
orders of  body,  and  disturbances  of  the  mind,  very  near  to 
madness,  which  I  hope  He  that  made  me  will  suffer  to  ex- 
tenuate many  faults,  and  excuse  many  deficiencies.'  But 
we  find  his  devotions  in  this  year  eminently  fervent;  and 
we  are  comforted  by  observing  intervals  of  quiet,  composure, 
and  gladness. 

On  Easter-day  we  find  the  following  emphatick  prayer: 
'Almighty  and  most  merciful  Father^  who  seest  all  our 


320  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1777 

miseries,  and  knowest  all  our  necessities,  look  down  upon  me, 
and  pity  me.  Defend  me  from  the  violent  incursion  [incur- 
sions] of  evil  thoughts,  and  enable  me  to  form  and  keep  such 
resolutions  as  may  conduce  to  the  discharge  of  the  duties 
which  thy  providence  shall  appoint  me;  and  so  help  me,  by 
thy  Holy  Spirit,  that  my  heart  may  surely  there  be  fixed, 
where  true  joys  are  to  be  found,  and  that  I  may  serve  thee 
with  pure  affection  and  a  cheerful  mind.  Have  mercy  upon 
me,  O  God,  have  mercy  upon  me;  years  and  infirmities 
oppress  me,  terrour  and  anxiety  beset  me.  Have  mercy 
upon  me,  my  Creator  and  my  Judge.  [In  all  dangers  pro- 
tect me.]  In  all  perplexities  relieve  and  free  me;  and  so 
help  me  by  thy  Holy  Spirit,  that  I  may  now  so  commemorate 
the  death  of  thy  Son  our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  as  that 
when  this  short  and  painful  life  shall  have  an  end,  I  may, 
for  his  sake,  be  received  to  everlasting  happiness.    Amen.' 

'Sir  Alexander  Dick  to  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson. 

'Prestonfield,  Feb.  17,  1777. 
'Sir,  I  had  yesterday  the  honour  of  receiving  your  book 
of  your  Journey  to  the  Western  Islands  of  Scotland,  which  you 
was  so  good  as  to  send  me,  by  the  hands  of  our  mutual  friend, 
Mr.  Boswell,  of  Auchinleck;  for  which  I  return  you  my  most 
hearty  thanks;  and  after  carefully  reading  it  over  again, 
shall  deposit  in  my  little  collection  of  choice  books,  next  our 
worthy  friend's  Journey  to  Corsica.  As  there  are  many 
things  to  admire  in  both  performances,  I  have  often  wished 
that  no  Travels  or  Journeys  should  be  published  but  those 
undertaken  by  persons  of  integrity  and  capacity  to  judge 
well,  and  describe  faithfully,  and  in  good  language,  the  situ- 
ation, condition,  and  manners  of  the  countries  past  through. 
Indeed  our  country  of  Scotland,  in  spite  of  the  union  of  the 
crowns,  is  still  in  most  places  so  devoid  of  clothing,  or  cover 
from  hedges  and  plantations,  that  it  was  well  you  gave  your 
readers  a  sound  Monitoire  with  respect  to  that  circumstance. 
The  truths  you  have  told,  and  the  purity  of  the  language  in 
which  they  are  expressed,  as  your  Journey  is  universally 
read,  may.  and  already  appear  to  have  a  very  good  effect. 


1777]         WISH  TO  HEAR  FROM  BOSWELL  321 

For  a  mail  of  my  acquaintance,  who  has  the  largest  nursery 
for  trees  and  hedges  in  this  country,  tells  me,  that  of  late  the 
demand  upon  him  for  these  articles  is  doubled,  and  some- 
times tripled.  I  have,  therefore,  hsted  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson 
in  some  of  my  memorandums  of  the  principal  planters  and 
favourers  of  the  enclosures,  under  a  name  which  I  took  the 
liberty  to  invent  from  the  Greek,  Papadendrion.  Lord 
Auchinleck  and  some  few  more  are  of  the  list.  I  am  told 
that  one  gentleman  in  the  shire  of  Aberdeen,  viz.  Sir  Archi- 
bald Grant,  has  planted  above  fifty  millions  of  trees  on  a 
piece  of  verj'  wild  ground  at  Monimusk :  I  must  enquire  if 
he  has  fenced  them  well,  before  he  enters  my  list;  for,  that 
is  the  soul  of  enclosing.  I  began  myself  to  plant  a  Uttle,  our 
ground  being  too  valuable  for  much,  and  that  is  now  fifty 
years  ago;  and  the  trees,  now  in  my  seventy-fourth  year, 
I  look  up  to  with  reverence,  and  shew  them  to  my  eldest  son 
now  in  his  fifteenth  year,  and  they  are  full  the  height  of  my 
country-house  here,  where  I  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving 
you,  and  hope  again  to  have  that  satisfaction  with  our 
mutual  friend,  Mr.  Boswell.  I  shall  always  continue,  with 
the  truest  esteem,  dear  Doctor,  your  much  obUged,  and 
obedient  humble  servant,  'Alexander  Dick.' 

'To  James  Boswell,  Esq, 

'Dear  Sir, — It  is  so  long  since  I  heard  any  thing  from 
you,  that  I  am  not  easy  about  it;  write  something  to  me 
next  post.  When  you  sent  your  last  letter,  every  thing 
seemed  to  be  mending;  I  hope  nothing  has  lately  grown 
worse.  I  suppose  young  Alexander  continues  to  thrive,  and 
Veronica  is  now  very  pretty  company.  I  do  not  suppose 
the  lady  is  yet  reconciled  to  me,  yet  let  her  know  that  I  love 
her  ver>'  well,  and  value  her  very  much.  .  .  . 

'Poor  Beauclerk  still  continues  very  ill.  Langton  lives 
on  as  he  used  to  do.  His  children  are  very  pretty,  and,  I 
think,  his  lady  loses  her  Scotch.     Paoli  I  never  see. 

'I  have  been  so  distressed  by  difficulty  of  breathing,  that 
I  lost,  as  was  computed,  six-and-thirty  ounces  of  blood  in 
a  few  days.     I  am  better,  but  not  well.  .  .  . 


322  LIFE   OF  DR.   JOHNSON  H777 

'Mrs.  Williams  sends  her  compliments,  and  promises  that 
when  you  come  hither,  she  will  accommodate  you  as  well  as 
ever  she  can  in  the  old  room.  She  wishes  to  know  whether 
you  sent  her  book  to  Sir  Alexander  Gordon. 

'My  dear  Boswell,  do  not  neglect  to  write  to  me;  for  your 
kindness  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  my  life,  which  I  should  be 
sorry  to  lose.     I  am,  Sir,  your  humble  servant, 

'February  18,  1777.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

'To  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson. 

'Glasgow,  April  24,  1777. 
'My  Deak  Sir,  .  .  .  My  wife  has  made  marmalade  of 
oranges  for  you.  I  left  her  and  my  daughters  and  Alexander 
all  well  yesterday.  I  have  taught  Veronica  to  speak  of  you 
thus; — Dr.  Johnson,  not  Johnston.  I  remain,  my  dear  Sir, 
your  most  affectionate,  and  obliged  humble  servant, 

'James  Boswell.' 

'To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

'Dear  Sir,  .  .  .  Tell  Mrs.  Boswell  that  I  shall  taste  her 
marmalade  cautiously  at  first.  Timeo  Danaos  et  donaferentes. 
Beware,  says  the  Italian  proverb,  of  a  reconciled  enemy. 
But  when  I  find  it  does  me  no  harm,  I  shall  then  receive  it 
and  be  thankful  for  it,  as  a  pledge  of  firm,  and,  I  hope,  of 
unalterable  kindness.  She  is,  after  all,  a  dear,  dear  lady.  .  .  . 
'I  am,  dear  Sir,  your  most  affectionate  humble  servant, 
'May  3,  1777.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

'To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

'Southill,  Sept.  26,  1777. 
'  Dear  Sir,  You  will  find  by  this  letter,  that  I  am  still  in 
the  same  calm  retreat,  from  the  noise  and  bustle  of  London, 
as  when  I  wrote  to  you  last.  I  am  happy  to  find  you  had 
such  an  agreeable  meeting  with  your  old  friend  Dr.  Johnson; 
I  have  no  doubt  your  stock  is  much  increased  by  the  inter- 
view; few  men,  nay  I  may  say,  scarcely  any  man,  has  got 
that  fund  of  knowledge  and  entertainment  as  Dr.  Johnson 


1777J  MR.   DILLY'S  LETTER  323 

in  conversation.  When  he  opens  freely,  every  one  is  atten- 
tive to  what  he  says,  and  cannot  fail  of  improvement  as  well 
as  pleasure. 

'The  edition  of  The  Poets,  now  printing,  will  do  honour 
to  the  EngUsh  press;  and  a  concise  account  of  the  life  of 
each  authour,  by  Dr.  Johnson,  will  be  a  very  valuable  addi- 
tion, and  stamp  the  reputation  of  this  edition  superiour  to 
any  thing  that  is  gone  before.  The  first  cause  that  gave 
rise  to  this  undertaking,  I  believe,  was  owing  to  the  little 
trifling  edition  of  The  Poets,  printing  by  the  Martins,  at 
Edinburgh,  and  to  be  sold  by  Bell,  in  London.  Upon  ex- 
amining the  volumes  which  were  printed,  the  type  was 
found  so  extremely  small,  that  many  persons  could  not  read 
them;  not  only  this  inconvenience  attended  it,  but  the  in- 
accuracy of  the  press  was  very  conspicuous.  These  reasons, 
as  well  as  the  idea  of  an  invasion  of  what  we  call  our  Literary 
Property,  induced  the  London  Booksellers  to  print  an 
elegant  and  accurate  edition  of  all  the  English  Poets  of 
reputation,  from  Chaucer  to  the  present  time. 

'  Accordingly  a  select  number  of  the  most  resjiectable  book- 
sellers met  on  the  occasion;  and,  on  consulting  together, 
agreed,  that  all  the  proprietors  of  copy-right  in  the  various 
Poets  should  be  summoned  together;  and  when  their  opin- 
ions were  given,  to  proceed  immediately  on  the  business. 
Accordingly  a  meeting  was  held,  consisting  of  about  forty 
of  the  most  respectable  booksellers  of  London,  when  it  was 
agreed  that  an  elegant  and  uniform  edition  of  The  English 
Poets  should  be  immediately  printed,  with  a  concise  account 
of  the  life  of  each  authour,  by  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson;  and 
that  three  persons  should  be  deputed  to  wait  upon  Dr. 
Johnson,  to  solicit  him  to  undertake  the  Lives,  viz.,  T.  Davies, 
Strahan,  and  Cadell.  The  Doctor  very  politely  undertook 
it,  and  seemed  exceedingly  pleased  with  the  proposal.  As 
to  the  terms,  it  was  left  entirely  to  the  Doctor  to  name  his 
own :  he  mentioned  two  hundred  guineas^ :  it  was  immediately 

•  Johnson's  moderation  in  demanding  so  small  a  sum  is  extraordinary. 
Had  he  asked  one  thousand,  or  even  fifteen  hundred  guineas,  the  book- 
sellers, who  knew  the  value  of  his  name,  would  doubtless  have  readily 
given  it.  They  have  probably  got  five  thousand  guineas  by  this  work 
in  the  course  of  twenty-five  years. — Malonb. 


324  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1777 

agreed  to;  and  a  farther  compliment,  I  believe,  will  be  made 
him.  A  committee  was  Ukewise  appointed  to  engage  the 
best  engravers,  viz.,  Bartolozzi,  Sherwin,  Hall,  etc.  Likewise 
another  committee  for  giving  directions  about  the  paper, 
printing,  etc.,  so  that  the  whole  will  be  conducted  with  spirit, 
and  in  the  best  manner,  with  respect  to  authourship,  editor- 
ship, engravings,  etc.,  etc.  My  brother  will  give  you  a  list 
of  the  Poets  we  mean  to  give,  many  of  which  are  within  the 
time  of  the  Act  of  Queen  Anne,  which  Martin  and  Bell  can- 
not give,  as  they  have  no  property  in  them;  the  proprietors 
are  almost  all  the  booksellers  in  London,  of  consequence. 
I  am,  dear  Sir,  ever  your's,  '  Edward  Dilly.' 

A  circumstance  which  could  not  fail  to  be  very  pleasing 
to  Johnson  occurred  this  year.  The  Tragedy  of  Sir  Thomas 
Overbury,  written  by  his  early  companion  in  London,  Richard 
Savage,  was  brought  out  with  alterations  at  Drury-lane 
theatre.  The  Prologue  to  it  was  written  by  Mr.  Richard 
Brinsley  Sheridan;  in  which,  after  describing  very  pathet- 
ically the  wretchedness  of 

'  Ill-fated  Savage,  at  whose  birth  was  giv'n 
No  parent  but  the  Muse,  no  friend  but  Heav'n:' 

he  introduced  an  elegant  compliment  to  Johnson  on  his 
Dictionary,  that  wonderful  performance  which  cannot  be  too 
often  or  too  highly  praised;  of  which  Mr.  Harris,  in  his 
Philological  Inquiries,  justly  and  liberally  observes:  'Such 
is  its  merit,  that  our  language  does  not  possess  a  more  co- 
pious, learned,  and  valuable  work.'  The  concluding  lines  of 
this  Prologue  were  these: — 

'So  pleads  the  tale  that  gives  to  future  times 
The  son's  misfortunes  and  the  parent's  crimes; 
There  shall  his  fame  (if  own'd  to-night)  survive, 
Fix'd  by  the  hand  that  bids  our  language  live.' 

Mr,  Sheridan  here  at  once  did  honour  to  his  taste  and  to 
his  liberality  of  sentiment,   by  shewing  that  he  was  not 


1777]  A  JAR  OF  MARMALADE  325 

prejudiced  from  the  unlucky  difference  which  had  taken 
place  between  his  worthy  father  and  Dr.  Johnson.  I  have 
already  mentioned,  that  Johnson  was  very  desirous  of  rec- 
onciliation with  old  Mr.  Sheridan.  It  will,  therefore,  not 
seem  at  all  surprizing  that  he  was  zealous  in  acknowledg- 
ing the  brilliant  merit  of  his  son.  While  it  had  as  yet  been 
displayed  only  in  the  drama,  Johnson  proposed  him  as  a 
member  of  The  Literary  Club,  observing,  that  'He  who 
has  written  the  two  best  comedies  of  his  age,  is  surely  a 
considerable  man.'  And  he  had,  accordingly,  the  honour  to 
be  elected;  for  an  honour  it  undoubtedly  must  be  allowed 
to  be,  when  it  is  considered  of  whom  that  society  consists, 
and  that  a  single  black  ball  excludes  a  candidate. 

On  the  23rd  of  June,  I  again  wrote  to  Dr.  Johnson,  enclosing 
a  ship-master's  receipt  for  a  jar  of  orange-marmalade,  and 
a  large  packet  of  Lord  Hailes's  Annals  of  Scotland. 


'Dr.  Johnson  to  Mrs.  Boswell, 

'Madam, — Though  I  am  well  enough  pleased  with  the 
taste  of  sweetmeats,  very  little  of  the  pleasure  which  I  re- 
ceived at  the  arrival  of  your  jar  of  marmalade  arose  from 
eating  it.  I  received  it  as  a  token  of  friendship,  as  a  proof 
of  reconciliation,  things  much  sweeter  than  .sweetmeats,  and 
upon  this  consideration  I  return  you,  dear  Madam,  my  sin- 
cerest  thanks.  By  having  your  kindness  I  think  I  have  a 
double  security  for  the  continuance  of  Mr.  Boswell 's,  which 
it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  any  man  can  long  keep,  when 
the  influence  of  a  lady  so  highly  and  so  justly  valued  oper- 
ates against  him.  Mr.  Boswell  will  tell  you  that  I  was 
always  faithful  to  your  interest,  and  always  endeavoured 
to  exalt  you  in  his  estimation.  You  must  now  do  the  same 
for  me.  We  must  all  help  one  another,  and  you  must  now 
consider  me,  as,  dear  Madam,  your  most  obliged,  and  most 
humble  servant, 

'July  22,  1777.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 


326  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1777 

'To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

'  Dear  Sir, — I  am  this  day  come  to  Ashbourne,  and  have 
only  to  tell  you,  that  Dr.  Taylor  says  you  shall  be  welcome 
to  him,  and  you  know  how  welcome  you  will  be  to  me. 
Make  haste  to  let  me  know  when  you  may  be  expected. 

'Make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Boswell,  and  tell  her,  I 
hope  we  shall  be  at  variance  no  more.  I  am,  dear  Sir,  your 
most  humble  servant, 

'August  30,  1777.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

On  Sunday  evening,  Sept.  14,  I  arrived  at  Ashbourne,  and 
drove  directly  up  to  Dr.  Taylor's  door.  Dr.  Johnson  and 
he  appeared  before  I  had  got  out  of  the  post-chaise,  and 
welcomed  me  cordially. 

I  told  them  that  I  had  travelled  all  the  preceding  night, 
and  gone  to  bed  at  Leek  in  Staffordshire;  and  that  when  I 
rose  to  go  to  church  in  the  afternoon,  I  was  informed  there 
had  been  an  earthquake,  of  which,  it  seems,  the  shock  had 
been  felt  in  some  degree  at  Ashbourne.  Johnson.  'Sir, 
it  will  be  much  exaggerated  in  popular  talk:  for,  in  the 
first  place,  the  common  people  do  not  accurately  adapt  their 
thoughts  to  the  objects;  nor,  secondly,  do  they  accurately 
adapt  their  words  to  their  thoughts:  they  do  not  mean  to 
lie;  but,  taking  no  pains  to  be  exact,  they  give  you  very 
false  accounts.  A  great  part  of  their  language  is  proverbial. 
If  anything  rocks  at  all,  they  say  it  rocks  like  a  cradle;  and 
in  this  way  they  go  on.' 

The  subject  of  grief  for  the  loss  of  relations  and  friends 
being  introduced,  I  observed  that  it  was  strange  to  consider 
how  soon  it  in  general  wears  away.  Dr.  Taylor  mentioned 
a  gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood  as  the  only  instance  he 
had  ever  known  of  a  person  who  had  endeavoured  to  retain 
grief.  He  told  Dr.  Taylor,  that  after  his  Lady's  death, 
which  affected  him  deeply,  he  resolved  that  the  grief,  which 
he  cherished  with  a  kind  of  sacred  fondness,  should  be  last- 
ing; but  that  he  found  he  could  not  keep  it  long.  Johnson. 
'All  grief  for  what  cannot  in  the  course  of  nature  be  helped, 
soon  wears  away;    in  some  sooner,  indeed,  in  some  later; 


17771  GRIEF  FOR  LOSS  OF  FRIENDS  327 

but  it  never  continues  very  long,  unless  where  there  is  mad- 
ness, such  as  will  make  a  man  have  pride  so  fixed  in  his  mind, 
as  to  imagine  himself  a  King;  or  any  other  passion  in  an 
unreasonable  way:  for  all  unnecessary  grief  is  unwise,  and 
therefore  will  not  be  long  retained  by  a  sound  mind.  If, 
indeed,  the  cause  of  our  grief  is  occasioned  by  our  own  mis- 
conduct, if  grief  is  mingled  with  remorse  of  conscience,  it 
should  be  lasting.'  Boswell.  'But,  Sir,  we  do  not  ap- 
prove of  a  man  who  very  soon  forgets  the  loss  of  a  wife  or  a 
friend.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  we  disapprove  of  him,  not  because 
he  soon  forgets  his  grief,  for  the  sooner  it  is  forgotten  the 
better,  but  because  we  suppose,  that  if  he  forgets  his  wife 
or  his  friend  soon,  he  has  not  had  much  affection  for  them.' 

I  was  somewhat  disappointed  in  finding  that  the  edition 
of  The  English  Poets,  for  which  he  was  to  write  Prefaces  and 
Lives,  was  not  an  undertaking  directed  by  him:  but  that  he 
was  to  furnish  a  Preface  and  Life  to  any  poet  the  booksellers 
pleased.  I  asked  him  if  he  would  do  this  to  any  dunce's 
works,  if  they  should  ask  him.  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  and 
say  he  was  a  dunce.'  My  friend  seemed  now  not  much  to 
relish  talking  of  this  edition. 

After  breakfast,^  Johnson  carried  me  to  see  the  garden  be- 
longing to  the  school  of  Ashbourne,  which  is  very  prettily 
formed  upon  a  bank,  rising  gradually  behind  the  house. 
The  Reverend  Mr.  Langley,  the  head-master,  accompanied 
us. 

We  had  with  us  at  dinner  several  of  Dr.  Taylor's  neigh- 
bours, good  civil  gentlemen,  who  seemed  to  understand  Dr. 
Johnson  very  well,  and  not  to  consider  him  in  the  light  that 
a  certain  person  did,  who  being  struck,  or  rather  stunned 
by  his  voice  and  manner,  when  he  was  afterwards  asked 
what  he  thought  of  him,  answered,  'He's  a  tremendous 
companion.' 

Johnson  told  me,  that  'Taylor  was  a  very  sensible  acute 
man,  and  had  a  strong  mind;  that  he  had  great  activity  in 
some  respects,  and  yet  such  a  sort  of  indolence,  that  if  you 
should  put  a  pebble  upon  his  chimney-piece,  you  would 
find  it  there,  in  the  same  state,  a  year  afterwards.' 
'Next  morning. — Ed. 


328  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  (1777 

And  here  is  the  proper  place  to  give  an  account  of  John- 
son's humane  and  zealous  interference  in  behalf  of  the 
Reverend  Dr.  William  Dodd,  formerly  Prebendary  of  Bre- 
con, and  chaplain  in  ordinary  to  his  Majesty;  celebrated  as 
a  very  popular  preacher,  an  encourager  of  charitable  insti- 
tutions, and  authour  of  a  variety  of  works,  chiefly  theological. 
Having  unhappily  contracted  expensive  habits  of  living, 
partly  occasioned  by  licentiousness  of  manners,  he  in  an  evil 
hour,  when  pressed  by  want  of  money,  and  dreading  an  ex- 
posure of  his  circumstances,  forged  a  bond  of  which  he  at- 
tempted to  avail  himself  to  support  his  credit,  flattering 
himself  with  hopes  that  he  might  be  able  to  repay  its  amount 
without  being  detected.  The  person,  whose  name  he  thus 
rashly  and  criminally  presumed  to  falsify,  was  the  Earl  of 
Chesterfield,  to  whom  he  had  been  tutor,  and  who,  he  per- 
haps, in  the  warmth  of  his  feelings,  flattered  himself  would 
have  generously  paid  the  money  in  case  of  an  alarm  being 
taken,  rather  than  suffer  him  to  fall  a  victim  to  the  dreadful 
consequences  of  violating  the  law  against  forgery,  the  most 
dangerous  crime  in  a  commercial  country;  but  the  unfor- 
tunate divine  had  the  mortification  to  find  that  he  was  mis- 
taken. His  noble  pupil  appeared  against  him,  and  he  was 
capitally  convicted. 

Johnson  told  me  that  Dr.  Dodd  was  very  little  acquainted 
with  him,  having  been  but  once  in  his  company,  many  years 
previous  to  this  period  (which  was  precisely  the  state  of  my 
own  acquaintance  with  Dodd);  but  in  his  distress  he  be- 
thought himself  of  Johnson's  persuasive  power  of  writing, 
if  haply  it  might  avail  to  obtain  for  him  the  Royal  Mercy. 
He  did  not  apply  to  him  directly,  but,  extraordinary  as  it 
may  seem,  through  the  late  Countess  of  Harrington,  who 
wrote  a  letter  to  Johnson,  asking  him  to  employ  his  pen  in 
favour  of  Dodd.  Mr.  Allen,  the  printer,  who  was  Johnson's 
landlord  and  next  neighbour  in  Bolt-court,  and  for  whom 
he  had  much  kindness,  was  one  of  Dodd's  friends,  of  whom 
to  the  credit  of  humanity  be  it  recorded,  that  he  had  many 
who  did  not  desert  him,  even  after  his  infringement  of  the 
law  had  reduced  him  to  the  state  of  a  man  under  sentence 
of  death.     Mr.  Allen  told  me  that  he  carried  Lady  Harring- 


1777]  WRITINGS  FOR  DR.   DODD  329 

ton's  letter  to  Johnson,  that  Johnson  read  it  walking  up  and 
down  his  chamber,  and  seemed  much  agitated,  after  which 
he  said,  'I  will  do  what  I  can;' — and  certainly  he  did  make 
extraordinary  exertions. 

He  this  evening,  as  he  had  obligingly  promised  in  one  of 
his  letters,  put  into  my  hands  the  whole  series  of  his  writings 
upon  this  melancholy  occasion. 

Dr.  Johnson  wrote  in  the  first  place,  Dr.  Dodd's  Speech 
to  the  Recorder  of  London,  at  the  Old-Bailey,  when  sentence 
of  death  was  about  to  be  pronounced  upon  him. 

He  wrote  also  The  Convict's  Address  to  his  unhappy 
Brethren,  a  sermon  delivered  by  Dr.  Dodd,  in  the  chapel 
of  Newgate. 

The  other  pieces  mentioned  by  Johnson  in  the  above- 
mentioned  collection,  are  two  letters,  one  to  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor Bathurst,  (not  Lord  North,  as  is  erroneously  supposed,) 
and  one  to  Lord  Mansfield; — A  Petition  from  Dr.  Dodd  to 
the  King; — A  Petition  from  Mrs.  Dodd  to  the  Queen; — 
Observations  of  some  length  inserted  in  the  news-papers,  on 
occasion  of  Earl  Percy's  having  presented  to  his  Majesty 
a  petition  for  mercy  to  Dodd,  signed  by  twenty  thousand 
people,  but  all  in  vain.  He  told  me  that  he  had  also  written 
a  petition  from  the  city  of  London;  'but  (said  he,  with  a 
significant  smile)  they  mended  it.' 

The  last  of  these  articles  which  Johnson  wrote  is  Dr. 
Dodd's  last  solemn  Declaration,  which  he  left  with  the  sheriff 
at  the  place  of  execution. 

I  found  a  letter  to  Dr.  Johnson  from  Dr.  Dodd,  May  23, 
1777,  in  which  The  Convict's  Address  seems  clearly  to  be 
meant. 

'I  am  so  penetrated,  my  ever  dear  Sir,  with  a  sense  of 
your  extreme  benevolence  towards  me,  that  I  cannot  find 
words  equal  to  the  sentiments  of  my  heart.  .  .  .' 

On  Sunday,  June  22,  he  writes,  begging  Dr.  Johnson's 
assistance  in  framing  a  supplicatory  letter  to  his  Majesty. 

This  letter  was  brought  to  Dr.  Johnson  when  in  church. 
He  stoojjed  down  and  read  it,  and  wrote,  when  he  went 
home,  the  following  letter  for  Dr.  Dodd  to  the  King: 

'Sir, — May  it  not  offend  your  Majesty,  that  the  most 


330  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1777 

miserable  of  men  applies  himself  to  your  clemency,  as  his 
last  hope  and  his  last  refuge;  that  your  mercy  is  most  ear- 
nestly and  humbly  implored  by  a  clergyman,  whom  your 
Laws  and  Judges  have  condemned  to  the  horrour  and  ig- 
nominy of  a  publick  execution.  .  .  .' 
Subjoined  to  it  was  written  as  follows: — 

'To  Dk.  Dodd. 

'Sir, — I  most  seriously  enjoin  you  not  to  let  it  be  at  all 
known  that  I  have  written  this  letter,  and  to  return  the 
copy  to  Mr.  Allen  in  a  cover  to  me.  I  hope  I  need  not  tell 
you,  that  I  wish  it  success. — But  do  not  indulge  hope. — Tell 
nobody.' 

It  happened  luckily  that  Mr.  Allen  was  pitched  on  to 
assist  in  this  melancholy  office,  for  he  was  a  great  friend  of 
Mr.  Akerman,  the  keeper  of  Newgate.  Dr.  Johnson  never 
went  to  see  Dr.  Dodd.  He  said  to  me,  'it  would  have  done 
him  more  harm,  than  good  to  Dodd,  who  once  expressed  a 
desire  to  see  him,  but  not  earnestly.' 

All  applications  for  the  Royal  Mercy  having  failed,  Dr. 
Dodd  prepared  himself  for  death;  and,  with  a  warmth  of 
gratitude,  wrote  to  Dr.  Johnson  as  follows: — 

'June  25,  Midnight. 
'Accept,  thou  great  and  good  heart,  my  earnest  and  fer- 
vent thanks  and  prayers  for  all  thy  benevolent  and  kind 
efforts  in  my  behalf. — Oh!  Dr.  Johnson!  as  I  sought  your 
knowledge  at  an  early  hour  in  life,  would  to  heaven  I  had 
cultivated  the  love  and  acquaintance  of  so  excellent  a  man ! 
— I  pray  God  most  sincerely  to  bless  you  with  the  highest 
transports — the  infelt  satisfaction  of  humane  and  benevo- 
lent exertions ! — And  admitted,  as  I  trust  I  shall  be,  to  the 
realms  of  bliss  before  you,  I  shall  hail  your  arrival  there 
with  transports,  and  rejoice  to  acknowledge  that  you  was 
my  Comforter,  my  Advocate  and  my  Friend  !  God  be  ever 
with  you  I ' 

Dr.  Johnson  lastly  wrote  to  Dr.  Dodd  this  solemn  and 
soothing  letter: — 


1777]  LETTER  TO  DR.  DODD  331 

'To  THE  Reverend  Dr.  Dodd. 

'Dear  Sir, — That  which  is  appointed  to  all  men  is  now 
coming  upon  you.  Outward  circumstances,  the  eyes  and 
the  thoughts  of  men,  are  below  the  notice  of  an  immortal 
being  about  to  stand  the  trial  for  eternity,  before  the  Supreme 
Judge  of  heaven  and  earth.  Be  comforted:  your  crime, 
morally  or  religiously  considered,  has  no  very  deep  dye  of 
tvu-pitude.  It  corrupted  no  man's  principles;  it  attacked 
no  man's  life.  It  involved  only  a  temporary  and  reparable 
injury.  Of  this,  and  of  all  other  sins,  you  are  earnestly  to 
repent;  and  may  God,  who  knoweth  our  frailty,  and  de- 
sireth  not  our  death,  accept  your  repentance,  for  the  sake 
of  his  Son  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 

'In  requital  of  those  well-intended  oflfices  which  you  are 
pleased  so  emphatically  to  acknowledge,  let  me  beg  that 
you  make  in  your  devotions  one  petition  for  my  eternal 
welfare.     I  am,  dear  Sir,  your  affectionate  servant, 

'June  26,  1777.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

Under  the  copy  of  this  letter  I  found  written,  in  John- 
son's own  hand,  'Next  day,  June  27,  he  was  executed.' 

Tuesday,  September  16,  Dr.  Johnson  having  mentioned 
to  me  the  extraordinary  size  and  price  of  some  cattle  reared 
by  Dr.  Taylor,  I  rode  out  with  our  host,  surveyed  his  farm, 
and  was  shown  one  cow  which  he  had  sold  for  a  hundred 
and  twenty  guineas,  and  another  for  which  he  had  been 
offered  a  hundred  and  thirty.  Taylor  thus  described  to 
me  his  old  schoolfellow  and  friend,  Johnson:  'He  is  a  man 
of  a  very  clear  head,-  great  power  of  words,  and  a  very  gay 
imagination;  but  there  is  no  disputing  with  him.  He  will 
not  hear  you,  and  having  a  louder  voice  than  you,  must 
roar  you  down.' 

In  the  evening,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Seward,  of  Lichfield, 
who  was  passing  through  Ashbourne  in  his  way  home,  drank 
tea  with  us.  Johnson  described  him  thus: — 'Sir,  his  ambi- 
tion is  to  be  a  fine  talker;  so  he  goes  to  Buxton,  and  such 
places,  where  he  may  find  companies  to  listen  to  him.  And, 
Sir,  he  is  a  valetudinarian,  one  of  those  who  are  always 


332  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [im 

mending  themselves.  I  do  not  know  a  more  disagreeable 
character  than  a  valetudinarian,  who  thinks  he  may  do  any- 
thing that  is  for  his  ease,  and  indulges  himself  in  the  grossest 
freedoms:  Sir,  he  brings  himself  to  the  state  of  a  hog  in  a 
stye.' 

Dr.  Taylor's  nose  happening  to  bleed,  he  said,  it  was 
because  he  had  omitted  to  have  himself  blooded  four  days 
after  a  quarter  of  a  year's  interval.  Dr.  Johnson,  who  was 
a  great  dabbler  in  physick,  disapproved  much  of  periodical 
bleeding.  'For  (said  he,)  you  accustom  yourself  to  an 
evacuation  which  Nature  cannot  perform  of  herself,  and 
therefore  she  cannot  help  you,  should  you,  from  forgetful- 
ness  or  any  other  cause,  omit  it;  so  you  may  be  suddenly 
suffocated.  You  may  accustom  yourself  to  other  periodical 
evacuations,  because  should  you  omit  them.  Nature  can 
supply  the  omission ;  but  Nature  cannot  open  a  vein  to  blood 
you.' — 'I  do  not  like  to  take  an  emetick,  (said  Taylor,)  for 
fear  of  breaking  some  small  vessels.' — 'Poh!  (said  Johnson,) 
if  you  have  so  many  things  that  will  break,  you  had  better 
break  your  neck  at  once,  and  there's  an  end  on't.  You  will 
break  no  small  vessels:'  (blowing  with  high  derision.) 

The  horrour  of  death  which  I  had  always  observed  in  Dr. 
Johnson,  appeared  strong  to-night.  I  ventured  to  tell  him, 
that  I  had  been,  for  moments  in  my  life,  not  afraid  of  death; 
therefore  I  could  suppose  another  man  in  that  state  of  mind 
for  a  considerable  space  of  time.  He  said,  'he  never  had  a 
moment  in  which  death  was  not  terrible  to  him.'  He  added, 
that  it  had  been  observed,  that  scarce  any  man  dies  in 
publick,  but  with  apparent  resolution;  from  that  desire  of 
praise  which  never  quits  us.  I  said.  Dr.  Dodd  seemed  to 
be  willing  to  die,  and  full  of  hopes  of  happiness.  'Sir,  (said 
he,)  Dr.  Dodd  would  have  given  both  his  hands  and  both 
his  legs  to  have  lived.  The  better  a  man  is,  the  more  afraid 
he  is  of  death,  having  a  clearer  view  of  infinite  purity.'  He 
owned,  that  our  being  in  an  unhappy  uncertainty  as  to  our 
salvation,  was  mysterious;  and  said,  'Ah!  we  must  wait 
till  we  are  in  another  state  of  being,  to  have  many  things 
explained  to  us.'  Even  the  powerful  mind  of  Johnson 
seemed  foiled  by  futurity. 


1777]  BIOGRAPHY  333 

On  Wednesday,  September  17,  Dr.  Butter,  physician  at 
Derby,  drank  tea  with  us;  and  it  was  settled  that  Dr.  John- 
son and  I  should  go  on  Friday  and  dine  with  him.  Johnson 
said,  *  I'm  glad  of  this.'  He  seemed  weary  of  the  uniformity 
of  life  at  Dr.  Taylor's. 

Talking  of  biography,  I  said,  in  writing  a  life,  a  man's 
pecuUarities  should  be  mentioned,  because  they  mark  his 
character.  Johnson.  'Sir,  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  pecu- 
liarities: the  question  is,  whether  a  man's  vices  should  be 
mentioned;  for  instance,  whether  it  should  be  mentioned 
that  Addison  and  Parnell  drank  too  freely:  for  people  will 
probably  more  easily  indulge  in  drinking  from  knowing  this; 
so  that  more  ill  may  be  done  by  the  example,  than  good  by 
telling  the  whole  truth.'  Here  was  an  instance  of  his  vary- 
ing from  himself  in  talk;  for  when  Lord  Hailes  and  he  sat 
one  morning  calmly  conversing  in  my  house  at  Edinburgh, 
I  well  remember  that  Dr.  Johnson  maintained,  that  'If  a 
man  is  to  write  A  Panegyrick,  he  may  keep  vices  out  of  sight; 
but  if  he  professes  to  write  A  Life,  he  must  represent  it  really 
as  it  was:'  and  when  I  objected  to  the  danger  of  telling  that 
Parnell  drank  to  excess,  he  said,  that  'it  would  produce  an 
instructive  caution  to  avoid  drinking,  when  it  was  seen, 
that  even  the  learning  and  genius  of  Parnell  could  be  de- 
based by  it.'  And  in  the  Hebrides  he  maintained,  as  appears 
from  my  Journal,  that  a  man's  intimate  friend  should  men- 
tion his  faults,  if  he  writes  his  life. 

Thursday,  September  18.  Last  night  Dr.  Johnson  had 
proposed  that  the  crystal  lustre,  or  chandelier,  in  Dr.  Tay- 
lor's large  room,  should  be  lighted  up  some  time  or  other. 
Taylor  said,  it  should  be  lighted  up  next  night.  'That  will 
do  very  well,  (said  I,)  for  it  is  Dr.  Johnson's  birth-day.' 
When  we  were  in  the  Isle  of  Sky,  Johnson  had  desired  me 
not  to  mention  his  birth-day.  He  did  not  seem  pleased  at 
this  time  that  I  mentioned  it,  and  said  (somewhat  sternly,) 
'he  would  not  have  the  lustre  lighted  the  next  day.' 

Some  ladies,  who  had  been  present  yesterday  when  I 
mentioned  his  birth-day,  came  to  dinner  to-day,  and  plagued 
him  unintentionally,  by  wishing  him  joy.  I  know  not  why 
he  disliked  having  his  birth-day  mentioned,  unless  it  were 


334  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1777 

that  it  reminded  him  of  his  approaching  nearer  to  death, 
of  which  he  had  a  constant  dread. 

I  mentioned  to  him  a  friend  of  mine  who  was  formerly 
gloomy  from  low  spirits,  and  much  distressed  by  the  fear 
of  death,  but  was  now  uniformly  placid,  and  contemplated 
his  dissolution  without  any  perturbation.  'Sir,  (said  John- 
son,) this  is  only  a  disordered  imagination  taking  a  different 
turn.' 

He  observed,  that  a  gentleman  of  eminence  in  literature 
had  got  into  a  bad  style  of  poetry  of  late.  'He  puts  (said 
he,)  a  very  common  thing  in  a  strange  dress  till  he  does  not 
know  it  himself,  and  thinks  other  people  do  not  know  it.' 
BoswELL.  'Thai;  is  owing  to  his  being  so  much  versant  in 
old  English  poetry.'  Johnson.  'What  is  that  to  the  pur- 
pose, Sir?  If  I  say  a  man  is  drunk,  and  you  tell  me  it  is 
owing  to  his  taking  much  drink,  the  matter  is  not  mended. 

No,  Sir,  has  taken  to  an  odd  mode.    For  example, 

he'd  write  thus: 

"Hermit  hoar,  in  solemn  cell. 

Wearing  out  life's  evening  gray." 

Gray  evening  is  conimon  enough;  but  evening  gray  he'd 
think  fine. — Stay; — we'll  make  out  the  stanza: 

"Hermit  hoar,  in  solemn  cell. 

Wearing  out  life's  evening  gray; 
Smite  thy  bosom,  sage,  and  tell, 

What  is  bliss?  and  which  the  way?'" 

BoswELL.  'But  why  smite  his  bosom.  Sir?'  Johnson. 
'Why,  to  shew  he  was  in  earnest,'  (smiling.) — He  at  an  after 
period  added  the  following  stanza: 

'Thus  I  spoke;  and  speaking  sigh'd; 

— Scarce  repress'd  the  starting  tear; — 
When  the  smiling  sage  reply' d — 

— Come,  my  lad,  and  drink  some  beer.' 

I  cannot  help  thinking  the  first  stanza  very  good  solemn, 
poetry,  as  also  the  three  first  lines  of  the  second.     Its  last 


1777]  LORD  SCARSDALE'S  HOUSE  335 

line  is  an  excellent  burlesque  surprise  on  gloomy  sentimental 
enquirers.  And,  perhaps,  the  advice  is  as  good  as  can  be 
given  to  a  low-spirited  dissatisfied  being: — 'Don't  trouble 
your  head  with  sickly  thinking:   take  a  cup,  and  be  merry.' 

Friday,  September  19,  after  breakfast  Dr.  Johnson  and 
I  set  out  in  Dr.  Taylor's  chaise  to  go  to  Derby.  The  day 
was  fi"ne,  and  we  resolved  to  go  by  Keddlestone,  the  seat 
of  Lord  Scarsdale,  that  I  might  see  his  Lordship's  fine  house. 
I  was  struck  with  the  magnificence  of  the  building;  and  the 
extensive  park,  with  the  finest  verdure,  covered  with  deer, 
and  cattle,  and  sheep,  delighted  me.  The  number  of  old 
oaks,  of  an  immense  size,  filled  me  with  a  sort  of  respect- 
ful admiration:  for  one  of  them  sixty  pounds  was  offered. 
The  excellent  smooth  gravel  roads;  the  large  piece  of  water 
formed  by  his  Lordship  from  some  small  brooks,  with  a 
handsome  barge  upon  it;  the  venerable  Go  thick  church, 
now  the  family  chapel,  just  by  the  house;  in  short,  the 
grand  group  of  objects  agitated  and  distended  my  mind  in  a 
most  agreeable  manner.  'One  should  think  (said  I,)  that 
the  proprietor  of  all  this  must  be  happy.' — 'Nay,  Sir,  (said 
Johnson,)  all  this  excludes  but  one  evil — poverty.' 

Our  names  were  sent  up,  and  a  well-drest  elderly  house- 
keeper, a  most  distinct  articulator,  shewed  us  the  house; 
which  I  need  not  describe,  as  there  is  an  account  of  it 
published  in  Ada7n^s  Works  in  Architecture.  Dr.  Johnson 
thought  better  of  it  to-day  than  when  he  saw  it  before; 
for  he  had  lately  attacked  it  violently,  saying,  'It  would 
do  excellently  for  a  town-hall.  The  large  room  with  the 
pillars  (said  he,)  would  do  for  the  Judges  to  sit  in  at  the 
assizes;  the  circular  room  for  a  jury-chamber;  and  the  room 
above  for  prisoners.'  Still  he  thought  the  large  room  ill 
lighted,  and  of  no  use  but  for  dancing  in ;  and  the  bed-cham- 
bers but  indifferent  rpoms;  and  that  the  immense  sum 
which  it  cost  was  injudiciously  laid  out.  Dr.  Taylor  had 
put  him  in  mind  of  his  appearing  pleased  with  the  house. 
'But  (said  he,)  that  was  when  Lord  Scarsdale  was  present. 
Politeness  obliges  us  to  appear  pleased  with  a  man's  works 
when  he  is  present.  No  man  will  be  so  ill  bred  as  to  ques- 
tion you.    You  may  therefore  pay  compliments  without 


336  -LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i777 

sajdng  what  is  not  true.  I  should  say  to  Lord  Scarsdale  of 
his  large  room,  "My  Lord,  this  is  the  most  costly  room  that 
I  ever  saw;"  which  is  true.' 

Dr.  Manningham,  physician  in  London,  who  was  visiting 
at  Lord  Scarsdale's,  accompanyed  us  through  many  of  the 
rooms,  and  so6n  afterwards  my  Lord  himself,  to  whom  Dr. 
Johnson  was  known,  appeared,  and  did  the  honours  of  the 
house.  We  talked  of  Mr.  Langton.  Johnson,  with  a  warm 
vehemence  of  affectionate  regard,  exclaimed,  'The  earth  does 
not  bear  a  worthier  man  than  Bennet  Langton.'  We  saw 
a  good  many  fine  pictures,  which  I  think  are  described  in  one 
of  Young's  Tours.  There  is  a  printed  catalogue  of  them  which 
the  housekeeper  put  into  my  hand ;  I  should  like  to  view  them 
at  leisure.  I  was  much  struck  with  Daniel  interpreting 
Nebuchadnezzar's  dream  by  Rembrandt.  We  were  shown 
a  pretty  large  library.  In  his  Lordship's  dressing-room  lay 
Johnson's  small  Dictionary  :  he  shewed  it  to  me,  with  some 
eagerness,  saying, '  Look'ye !  Qiue  terra  nostri  rion  plena  laboris.' 
He  observed,  also.  Goldsmith's  Animated  Nature;  and  said, 
'Here's  our  friend!  The  poor  Doctor  would  have  been 
happy  to  hear  of  this.' 

In  our  way,  Johnson  strongly  expressed  his  love  of  driving 
fast  in  a  post-chaise.  '  If  (said  he,)  I  had  no  duties,  and  no 
reference  to  futurity,  I  would  spend  my  life  in  driving  briskly 
in  a  post-chaise  with  a  pretty  woman;  but  she  should  be  one 
who  could  understand  me,  and  would  add  something  to  the 
conversation.'  I  observed,  that  we  were  this  day  to  stop 
just  where  the  Highland  army  did  in  1745.  Johnson.  'It 
was  a  noble  attempt.'  Boswell.  '  I  wish  we  could  have  an 
authentick  history  of  it.'  Johnson.  'If  you  were  not  an 
idle  dog  you  might  write  it,  by  collecting  from  every  body 
what  they  can  tell,  and  putting  down  your  authorities.' 
Boswell.  'But  I  could  not  have  the  advantage  of  it  in 
my  hfe-time.'  Johnson.  'You  might  have  the  satisfaction 
of  its  fame,  by  printing  it  in  Holland;  and  as  to  profit,  con- 
sider how  long  it  was  before  writing  came  to  be  considered 
in  a  pecuniary  view.  Baretti  says,  he  is  the  first  man  that 
ever  received  copy-money  in  Italy.'  I  said  that  I  would  en- 
deavour to  do  what  Dr.  Johnson  suggested;   and  I  thought 


1777]     JOHNSON  AND  BOSWELL  IN  DERBY       337 

that  I  might  write  so  as  to  venture  to  pubHsh  my  History  of 
the  Civil  War  in  Great-Britain  in  1745  and  1746,  without  being 
obliged  to  go  to  a  foreign  press. 

When  we  arrived  at  Derby,  Dr.  Butter  accompanied  u» 
to  see  the  manufactory  of  china  there.  I  admired  the  in- 
genuity and  dehcate  art  with  which  a  man  fashioned  clay 
into  a  cup,  a  saucer,  or  a  tea-pot,  while  a  boy  turned  round 
a  wheel  to  give  the  mass  rotundity.  I  thought  this  as  ex- 
cellent in  its  species  of  power,  as  making  good  verses  in  its 
species.  Yet  I  had  no  respect  for  this  potter.  Neither, 
indeed,  has  a  man  of  any  extent  of  thinking  for  a  mere  verse- 
maker,  in  whose  numbers,  however  perfect,  there  is  no  poetry,, 
no  mind.  The  china  was  beautiful,  but  Dr.  Johnson  justly 
observed  it  was  too  dear;  for  that  he  could  have  vessels  of 
silver,  of  the  same  size,  as  cheap  as  what  were  here  made 
of  porcelain. 

I  felt  a  pleasure  in  walking  about  Derby  such  as  I  always 
have  in  walking  about  any  town  to  which  I  am  not  accus- 
tomed. There  is  an  immediate  sensation  of  novelty;  and 
one  speculates  on  the  way  in  which  life  is  passed  in  it,  which, 
although  there  is  a  sameness  every  where  upon  the  tvhole, 
is  yet  minutely  diversified.  The  minute  diversities  in  every 
thing  are  wonderful.  Talking  of  shaving  the  other  night  at 
Dr.  Taylor's,  Dr.  Johnson  said,  'Sir,  of  a  thousand  shavers, 
two  do  not  shave  so  much  alike  as  not  to  be  distinguished.' 
I  thought  this  not  possible,  till  he  specified  so  many  of  the 
varieties  in  shaving; — holding  the  razor  more  or  less  per- 
pendicular;— drawing  long  or  short  strokes; — beginning  at 
the  upper  part  of  the  face,  or  the  under; — at  the  right  side 
or  the  left  side.  Indeed,  when  one  considers  what  variety 
of  sounds  can  be  uttered  by  the  windpipe,  in  the  compass  of 
a  very  small  aperture,  we  may  be  convinced  how  many  de- 
grees of  difference  there  may  be  in  the  application  of  a  razor. 

We  dined  with  Dr.  Butter,  whose  lady  is  daughter  of  my 
cousin  Sir  John  Douglas,  whose  grandson  is  now  presumptive 
heir  of  the  noble  family  of  Queensberry.  Johnson  and  he 
had  a  good  deal  of  medical  conversation.  Johnson  said,  he 
had  somewhere  or  other  given  an  account  of  Dr.  Nichols's 
discourse  De  Animd  Medicd,    He  told  us  'that  whatever  a 


338  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1777 

man's  distemper  was,  Dr.  Nichols  would  not  attend  him  as 
a  physician,  if  his  mind  was  not  at  ease;  for  he  believed  that 
no  medicines  would  have  any  influence.  He  once  attended 
a  man  in  trade,  upon  whom  he  found  none  of  the  medicines 
he  prescribed  had  any  effect:  he  asked  the  man's  wife  pri- 
vately whether  his  affairs  were  not  in  a  bad  way?  She  said 
no.  He  continued  his  attendance  some  time,  still  without 
success.  At  length  the  man's  wife  told  him,  she  had  dis- 
covered that  her  husband's  affairs  were  in  a  bad  way.  When 
Goldsmith  was  dying.  Dr.  Turton  said  to  him,  "Your  pulse 
is  in  greater  disorder  than  it  should  be,  from  the  degree  of 
fever  which  you  have:  is  your  mind  at  ease?"  Goldsmith 
answered  it  was  not.' 

Dr.  Johnson  told  us  at  tea,  that  when  some  of  Dr.  Dodd's 
pious  friends  were  trying  to  console  him  by  saying  that  he 
was  going  to  leave  'a  wretched  world,'  he  had  honesty 
enough  not  to  join  in  the  cant: — 'No,  no,  (said  he,)  it  has 
been  a. very  agreeable  world  to  me.'  Johnson  added,  'I 
respect  Dodd  for  thus  speaking  the  truth;  for,  to  be  sure, 
he  had  for  several  years  enjoyed  a  life  of  great  voluptuous- 
ness.' " 

He  told  us,  that  Dodd's  city  friends  stood  by  him  so,  that 
a  thousand  pounds  were  ready  to  be  given  to  the  gaoler,  if 
he  would  let  him  escape.  He  added,  that  he  knew  a  friend 
of  Dodd's,  who  walked  about  Newgate  for  some  time  on  the 
evening  before  the  day  of  his  execution,  with  five  hundred 
pounds  in  his  pocket,  ready  to  be  paid  to  any  of  the  turn- 
keys who  could  get  him  out:  but  it  was  too  late;  for  he  was 
watched  with  much  circumspection.  He  said,  Dodd's  friends 
had  an  image  of  him  made  of  wax,  which  was  to  have  been 
left  in  his  place;  and  he  believed  it  was  carried  into  the 
prison. 

Johnson  disapproved  of  Dr.  Dodd's  leaving  the  world  per- 
suaded that  The  Convict's  Address  to  his  unhappy  Brethren 
was  of  his  own  writing.  'But,  Sir,  (said  I,)  you  contributed 
to  the  deception;  for  when  Mr.  Seward  expressed  a  doubt 
to  you  that  it  was  not  Dodd's  own,  because  it  had  a  great 
deal  more  force  of  mind  in  it  than  any  thing  known  to  be 
his,  you  answered, — "Why  should  vou  think  so?    Depend 


17771  GETTING  UP  EARLY  339 

upon  it,  Sir,  when  a  man  knows  he  is  to  be  hanged  in  a 
fortnight,  it  concentrates  his  mind  wonderfully.'"  John- 
son. '  Sir,  as  Dodd  got  it  from  me  to  pass  as  his  own,  while 
that  could  do  him  any  good,  there  was  an  implied  promise 
that  I  should  not  own  it.  To  own  it,  therefore,  would  have 
been  teUing  a  lie,  with  the  addition  of  breach  of  promise, 
which  was  worse  than  simply  telling  a  lie  to  make  it  be  be- 
lieved it  was  Dodd's.  Besides,  Sir,  I  did  not  directly  tell  a 
lie:  I  left  the  matter  uncertain.  Perhaps  I  thought  that 
Seward  would  not  believe  it  the  less  to  be  mine  for  what  I 
said;  but  I  would  not  put  it  in  his  power  to  say  I  had  owned 
it.' 

He  said, '  Goldsmith  was  a  plant  that  flowered  late.  There 
appeared  nothing  remarkable  about  him  when  he  was  young; 
though  when  he  had  got  high  in  fame,  one  of  his  friends  be- 
gan to  recollect  something  of  his  being  distinguished  at  Col- 
lege. Goldsmith  in  the  same  manner  recollected  more  of 
that  friend's  early  years,  as  he  grew  a  greater  man.' 

I  mentioned  that  Lord  Monboddo  told  me,  he  awaked 
every  morning  at  four,  and  then  for  his  health  got  up  and 
walked  in  his  room  naked,  with  the  window  open,  which  he 
called  taking  an  air  bath;  after  which  he  went  to  bed  again, 
and  slept  two  hours  more.  Johnson,  who  was  always  ready 
to  beat  down  any  thing  that  seemed  to  be  exhibited  with 
disproportionate  importance,  thus  observed:  'I  suppose.  Sir, 
there  is  no  more  in  it  than  this,  he  awakes  at  four,  and  can- 
not sleep  till  he  chills  himself,  and  makes  the  warmth  of  the 
bed  a  grateful  sensation.' 

I  talked  of  the  difficulty  of  rising  in  the  morning.  Dr. 
Johnson  told  me,  'that  the  learned  Mrs.  Carter,  at  that 
period  when  she  was  eager  in  study,  did  not  awake  as  early 
as  she  wished,  and  she  therefore  had  a  contrivance,  that,  at 
a  certain  hour,  her  chamber-light  should  burn  a  string  to 
which  a  heavy  weight  was  suspended,  which  then  fell  with 
a  strong  sudden  noise:  this  roused  her  from  sleep,  and  then 
she  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  up.'  But  I  said  that  was  my 
difficulty;  and  wished  there  could  be  some  medicine  invented 
which  would  make  one  rise  without  pain,  which  I  never  did, 
unless  after  Ijdng  in  bed  a  very  long  time. 


340  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  11777 

Johnson  advised  me  to-night  not  to  refine  in  the  education 
of  my  children.  'Life  (said  he,)  will  not  bear  refinement: 
you  must  do  as  other  people  do.' 

As  we  drove  back  to  Ashbourne,  Dr.  Johnson  recom- 
mended to  me,  as  he  had  often  done,  to  drink  water  only: 
'For  (said  he,)  you  are  then  sure  not  to  get  drunk;  whereas 
if  you  drink  wine  you  are  never  sure.'  I  said,  drinking  wine 
was  a  pleasure  which  I  was  unwilling  to  give  up,  'Why,  Sir, 
(said  he,)  there  is  no  doubt  that  not  to  drink  wine  is  a  great 
deduction  from  life;  but  it  may  be  necessary.'  He  however 
owned,  that  in  his  opinion  a  free  use  of  wine  did  not  shorten 
life;  and  said,  he  would  not  give  less  for  the  life  of  a  certain 
Scotch  Lord  (whom  he  named)  celebrated  for  hard  drinking, 
than  for  that  of  a  sober  man.  'But  stay,  (said  he,  with  his 
usual  intelligence,  and  accuracy  of  enquiry,)  does  it  take 
much  wine  to  make  him  drunk  ? '  I  answered,  '  a  great  deal 
either  of  wine  or  strong  punch.' — 'Then  (said  he,)  that  is 
the  worse.'  I  presume  to  illustrate  my  friend's  observation 
thus:  'A  fortress  which  soon  surrenders  has  its  walls  less 
shattered  than  when  a  long  and  obstinate  resistance  is  made.* 

I  ventured  to  mention  a  person  who  was  as  violent  a 
Scotsman  as  he  was  an  Englishman;  and  literally  had  the 
same  contempt  for  an  Englishman  compared  with  a  Scots- 
man, that  he  had  for  a  Scotsman  compared  with  an  English- 
man; and  that  he  would  say  of  Dr.  Johnson,  'Damned  rascal ! 
to  talk  as  he  does  of  the  Scotch.'  This  seemed,  for  a  moment, 
'to  give  him  pause.'  It,  perhaps,  presented  his  extreme 
prejudice  against  the  Scotch  in  a  point  of  view  somewhat 
new  to  him,  by  the  effect  of  contrast. 

By  the  time  when  we  returned  to  Ashbourne,  Dr.  Taylor 
was  gone  to  bed.  Johnson  and  I  sat  up  a  long  time  by  our- 
selves. 

On  Saturday,  September  20,  after  breakfast,  when  Taylor 
was  gone  out  to  his  farm.  Dr.  Johnson  and  I  had  a  serious 
conversation  by  ourselves  on  melancholy  and  madness. 

We  entered  seriously  upon  a  question  of  much  importance 
to  me,  which  Johnson  was  pleased  to  consider  with  friendly 
attention.  I  had  long  complained  to  him  that  I  felt  myself 
discontented  in  Scotland,  as  too  narrow  a  sphere,  and  that  I 


1777]  HIS  LOVE  FOR  LONDON  341 

wished  to  make  my  chief  residence  in  London,  the  great  scene 
of  ambition,  instruction,  and  amusement:  a  scene,  which  was 
to  me,  comparatively  speaking,  a  heaven  upon  earth.  John- 
son. 'Why,  Sir,  I  never  knew  any  one  who  had  such  a 
gust  for  London  as  you  have:  and  I  cannot  blame  you  for 
your  wish  to  live  there:  yet.  Sir,  were  I  in  your  father's  place, 
I  should  not  consent  to  your  settling  there;  for  I  have  the 
old  feudal  notions,  and  I  should  be  afraid  that  Auchinleck 
would  be  deserted,  as  you  would  soon  find  it  more  desirable 
to  have  a  country-seat  in  a  better  chmate.' 

I  suggested  a  doubt,  that  if  I  were  to  reside  in  London, 
the  exquisite  zest  with  which  I  relished  it  in  occasional 
visits  might  go  oflf,  and  I  might  grow  tired  of  it.  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  you  find  no  man,  at  all  intellectual,  who  is  will- 
ing to  leave  London.  No,  Sir,  when  a  man  is  tired  of  Lon- 
don, he  is  tired  of  life;  for  there  is  in  London  all  that  life  can 
afford.' 

He  said,  'A  country  gentleman  should  bring  his  lady  to 
visit  London  as  soon  as  he  can,  that  they  may  have  agree- 
able topicks  for  conversation  when  they  are  by  themselves.' 

We  talked  of  employment  being  absolutely  necessary  to 
preserve  the  mind  from  wearying  and  growing  fretful,  espe- 
cially in  those  who  have  a  tendency  to  melancholy;  and  I 
mentioned  to  him  a  saying  which  somebody  had  related  of 
an  American  savage,  who,  when  an  European  was  expatiat- 
ing on  all  the  advantages  of  money,  put  this  question :  '  Will 
it  purchase  occupation  :? '  Johnson.  '  Depend  upon  it.  Sir, 
this  saying  is  too  refined  for  a  savage.  And,  Sir,  money  wiU 
purchase  occupation;  it  will  purchase  all  the  conveniences 
of  life;  it  will  purchase  variety  of  company;  it  will  purchase 
all  sorts  of  entertainment.' 

I  talked  to  him  of  Forster's  Voyage  to  the  South  Seas, 
which  pleased  me;  but  I  found  he  did  not  like  it.  'Sir, 
(said  he,)  there  is  a  great  affectation  of  fine  writing  in  it.' 
BoswELL.  'But  he  carries  you  along  with  him.'  Johnson. 
'No,  Sir;  he  does  not  carry  me  along  with  him:  he  leaves 
me  behind  him:  or  rather,  indeed,  he  sets  me  before  him; 
for  he  makes  me  turn  over  many  leaves  at  a  time.' 

On  Sunday,  September  21,  we  went  to  the  church  of  Ash- 


342  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  ri777 

bourne,  which  is  one  of  the  largest  and  most  luminous  that 
I  have  seen  in  any  town  of  the  same  size.  I  felt  great  satis- 
faction in  considering  that  I  was  supported  in  my  fondness 
for  solemn  publick  worship  by  the  general  concurrence  and 
munificence  of  mankind. 

Johnson  and  Taylor  were  so  different  from  each  other, 
that  I  wondered  at  their  preserving  an  intimacy.  Their 
having  been  at  school  and  college  together,  might,  in  some 
degree,  account  for  this;  but  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  has  fur- 
nished me  with  a  stronger  reason;  for  Johnson  mentioned 
to  him,  that  he  had  been  told  by  Taylor  he  was  to  be  his 
heir.  I  shall  not  take  upon  me  to  animadvert  upon  this; 
but  certain  it  is,  that  Johnson  paid  great  attention  to  Taylor. 
He  now,  however,  said  to  me,  'Sir,  I  love  him;  but  I  do  not 
love  him  more;  my  regard  for  him  does  not  increase.  As 
it  is  said  in  the  Apocrypha,  "his  talk  is  of  bullocks:"  I  do 
not  suppose  he  is  very  fond  of  my  company.  His  habits  are 
by  no  means  sufficiently  clerical:  this  he  knows  that  I  see; 
and  no  man  likes  to  live  under  the  eye  of  perpetual  disap- 
probation.' 

I  have  no  doubt  that  a  good  many  sermons  were  com- 
posed for  Taylor  by  Johnson.  At  this  time  I  found,  upon 
his  table,  a  part  of  one  which  he  had  newly  begun  to  write: 
and  Concio  pro  Taylor o  appears  in  one  of  his  diaries.  When 
to  these  circumstances  we  add  the  internal  evidence  from 
the  power  of  thinking  and  style,  in  the  collection  which  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Hayes  has  published,  with  the  significant 
title  of  '  Sermons  left  for  piMication  by  the  Reverend  John 
Taylor,  LL.D.,'  our  conviction  will  be  complete. 

I,  however,  would  not  have  it  thought,  that  Dr.  Taylor, 
though  he  could  not  write  like  Johnson,  (as,  indeed,  who 
co\ild?)  did  not  sometimes  compose  sermons  as  good  as  those 
which  we  generally  have  from  very  respectable  divines.  He 
shewed  me  one  with  notes  on  the  margin  in  Johnson's  hand- 
writing; and  I  was  present  when  he  read  another  to  Johnson, 
that  he  might  have  his  opinion  of  it,  and  Johnson  said  it 
was  'very  well.'  These,  we  may  be  sure,  were  not  Johnson's; 
for  he  was  above  little  arts,  or  tricks  of  deception. 

I  mentioned  to  Johnson  a  respectable  person  of  ^  very 


1777]  CONTEMPT  FOR  PLAYERS  343 

strong  mind,  who  had  little  of  that  tenderness  which  is  com- 
mon to  human  nature;  as  an  instance  of  which,  when  I  sug- 
gested to  him  that  he  should  invite  his  son,  who  had  been 
settled  ten  years  in  foreign  parts,  to  come  home  and  pay 
him  a  visit,  his  answer  was,  'No,  no,  let  him  mind  his  busi- 
ness.' Johnson'.  'I  do  not  agree  with  him.  Sir,  in  this, 
Gretting  money  is  not  all  a  man's  business:  to  cultivate 
kindness  is  a  valuable  part  of  the  business  of  life.' 

In  the  evening,  Johnson,  being  in  very  good  spirits,  enter- 
tained us  with  several  characteristical  portraits.  I  regret- 
that  any  of  them  escaped  my  retention  and  diligence.  I 
found,  from  experience,  that  to  collect  my  friend's  conversa- 
tion so  as  to  exhibit  it  with  any  degree  of  its  original  flavour^ 
it  was  necessary  to  write  it  down  without  delay.  To  record 
his  sayings,  after  some  distance  of  time,  was  like  preserving 
or  pickling  long-kept  and  faded  fruits,  or  other  vegetables, 
which,  when  in  that  state,  have  little  or  nothing  of  their 
taste  when  fresh. 

I  shall  present  my  readers  with  a  series  of  what  I  gathered 
this  evening  from  the  Johnsonian  garden. 

'Did  we  not  hear  so  much  said  of  Jack  Wilkes,  we  should 
think  more  highly  of  his  conversation.  Jack  has  great 
variety  of  talk,  Jack  is  a  scholar,  and  Jack  has  the  manners 
of  a  gentleman.  But  after  hearing  his  name  sounded  from 
pole  to  pole,  as  the  phoenix  of  convivial  feUcity,  we  are  dis- 
app)oint€d  in  his  company.  He  has  always  been  at  me  : 
but  I  would  do  Jack  a  kindness,  rather  than  not.  The  con- 
test is  now  over.' 

'Colley  Gibber  once  consulted  me  as  to  one  of  his  birth- 
day Odes,  a  long  time  before  it  was  wanted.  I  objected  very 
freely  to  several  passages.  Gibber  lost  patience,  and  would 
not  read  his  Ode  to  an  end.  When  we  had  done  with  criti- 
cism, we  walked  over  to  Richardson's,  the  authour  of  Clarissa, 
and  I  wondered  to  find  Richardson  displeased  that  I  "did 
not  treat  Gibber  with  more  respect.'^  Now,  Sir,  to  talk  of 
respect  for  a  player!'  (smiling  disdainfully.)  Boswell. 
'There,  Sir,  you  are  always  heretical:  you  never  will  allow 
merit  to  a  player.'  Johnson.  'Merit,  Sir!  what  merit? 
Do  you  respect  a  rope-dancer,  or  a  ballad-singer?'     Bos- 


344  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1777 

WELL.  'No,  Sir:  but  we  respect  a  great  player,  as  a  man 
who  can  conceive  lofty  sentiments,  and  can  express  them 
gracefully.'  Johnson.  'What,  Sir,  a  fellow  who  claps  a 
hump  on  his  back,  and  a  lump  on  his  leg,  and  cries  "/  am 
Richard  the  Third"?  Nay,  Sir,  a  ballad-singer  is  a  higher 
man,  for  he  does  two  things;  he  repeats  and  he  sings:  there 
is  both  recitation  and  musick  in  his  performance:  the  player 
only  recites.'  Boswell.  '  My  dear  Sir !  you  may  turn  any- 
thing into  ridicule.  I  allow,  that  a  player  of  farce  is  not 
entitled  to  respect;  he  does  a  little  thing:  but  he  who  can 
represent  exalted  characters,  and  touch  the  noblest  passions, 
has  very  respectable  powers;  and  mankind  have  agreed  in 
admiring  great  talents  for  the  stage.  We  must  consider,  too, 
that  a  great  player  does  what  very  few  are  capable  to  do: 
his  art  is  a  very  rare  faculty.  Who  can  repeat  Hamlet's  solil- 
oquy, "To  be,  or  not  to  be,"  as  Garrick  does  it?'  Johnson. 
^Any  body  may.  Jemmy,  there  (a  boy  about  eight  years 
old,  who  was  in  the  room,)  will  do  it  as  well  in  a  week.' 
Boswell.  'No,  no.  Sir:  and  as  a  proof  of  the  merit  of 
great  acting,  and  of  the  value  which  mankind  set  upon  it, 
Garrick  has  got  a  hundred  thousand  pounds.'  Johnson. 
'Is  getting  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  proof  of  excel- 
lence?    That  has  been  done  by  a  scoundrel  commissary.' 

This  was  most  fallacious  reasoning.  I  was  sure,  for  once, 
that  I  had  the  best  side  of  the  argument.  I  boldly  main- 
tained the  just  distinction  between  a  tragedian  and  a  mere 
theatrical  droll;  between  those  who  rouse  our  terrour  and 
pity,  and  those  who  only  make  us  laugh.  'If  (said  I,)  Bet- 
terton  and  Foote  were  to  walk  into  this  room,  you  would 
respect  Betterton  much  more  than  Foote.'  Johnson.  'If 
Betterton  were  to  walk  into  this  room  with  Foote,  Foote 
would  soon  drive  him  out  of  it.  Foote,  Sir,  quatenus  Foote, 
has  powers  superiour  to  them  all.* 

On  Monday,  September  22,  when  at  breakfast,  I  un- 
guardedly said  to  Dr.  Johnson,  'I  wish  I  saw  you  and  Mrs. 
Macaulay  together.'  He  grew  very  angry;  and,  after  a 
pause,  while  a  cloud  gathered  on  his  brow,  he  burst  out, 
^No,  Sir;  you  would  not  see  us  quarrel,  to  make  you  sport. 
Don't  you  know  that  it  is  very  uncivil  to  pit  two  people 


1777]  THE  MINUTIiE  OF  LIFE  345 

against  one  another?'  Then,  checking  himself,  and  wishing 
to  be  more  gentle,  he  added,  'I  do  not  say  you  should  be 
hanged  or  drowned  for  this;  but  it  is  very  uncivil.'  Dr. 
Taylor  thought  him  in  the  wrong,  and  spoke  to  him  pri- 
vat€ly  of  it;  but  I  afterwards  acknowledged  to  Johnson  that 
I  was  to  blame,  for  I  candidly  owned,  that  I  meant  to  express 
a  desire  to  see  a  contest  between  Mrs.  Macaulay  and  him;^ 
but  then  I  knew  how  the  contest  would  end;  so  that  I  was 
to  see  him  triumph.  Johnson.  'Sir,  you  cannot  be  sure 
how  a  contest  will  end;  and  no  man  has  a  right  to  engage 
two  people  in  a  dispute  by  which  their  passions  may  be  in- 
flamed, and  they  may  part  with  bitter  resentment  against 
each  other.  I  would  sooner  keep  company  with  a  man  from 
whom  I  must  guard  my  pockets,  than  with  a  man  who  con- 
trives to  bring  me  into  a  dispute  with  somebody  that  he 

may  hear  it.    This  is  the  great  fault  of ,  (naming  one 

of  our  friends,)  endeavouring  to  introduce  a  subject  upoa 
which  he  knows  two  people  in  the  company  differ.'  Bos- 
well.  'But  he  told  me.  Sir,  he  does  it  for  instruction.' 
Johnson.  'Whatever  the  motive  be,  Sir,  the  man  who 
does  so,  does  verj'  wrong.  He  has  no  more  right  to  instruct 
himself  at  such  risk,  than  he  has  to  make  two  people  fight 
a  duel,  that  he  may  learn  how  to  defend  himself.' 

He  found  great  fault  with  a  gentleman  of  our  acquain- 
tance for  keeping  a  bad  table.  'Sir,  (said  he,)  when  a  man 
is  invited  to  dinner,  he  is  disappointed  if  he  does  not  get 
something  good.  I  advised  Mrs.  Thrale,  who  has  no  card- 
parties  at  her  house,  to  give  sweet-meats,  and  such  good 
things,  in  an  evening,  as  are  not  commonly  given,  and  she 
would  find  company  enough  come  to  her;  for  every  body 
loves  to  have  things  which  please  the  palate  put  in  their 
way,  without  trouble  or  preparation.'  Such  was  his  atten- 
tion to  the  minuticE  of  life  and  manners. 

Mr.  Burke's  Letter  to  the  Sheriffs  of  Bristol,  on  the  affairs 
of  America,  being  mentioned,  Johnson  censured  the  com- 
position much,  and  he  ridiculed  the  definition  of  a  free 
government,  t>iz.  'For  any  practical  purpose,  it  is  what  the 
people  think  so.' — 'I  will  let  the  King  of  France  govern 
me  on  those  conditions,  (said  he,)  for  it  is  to  be  governed 


346  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i777 

just  as  I  please.'  And  when  Dr.  Taylor  talked  of  a  girl 
being  sent  to  a  parish  workhouse,  and  asked  how  much  she 
could  be  obliged  to  work,  'Why,  (said  Johnson,)  as  much 
as  is  reasonable:  and  what  is  that?  as  much  as  she  thinks 
reasonable.' 

Dr.  Johnson  obligingly  proposed  to  carry  me  to  see  Islam, 
a  romantick  scene,  now  belonging  to  a  family  of  the  name 
of  Port,  but  formerly  the  seat  of  the  Congreves.  I  suppose 
it  is  well  described  in  some  of  the  Tours.  Johnson  de- 
scribed it  distinctly  and  vividly,  at  which  I  could  not  but 
express  to  him  my  wonder;  because,  though  my  eyes,  as  he 
observed,  were  better  than  his,  I  could  not  by  any  means 
equal  him  in  representing  visible  objects.  I  said,  the  differ- 
ence between  us  in  this  respect  was  as  that  between  a  man 
who  has  a  bad  instrument,  but  plays  well  on  it,  and  a  man 
who  has  a  good  instrument,  on  which  he  can  play  veiy  im- 
perfectly. 

I  recollect  a  very  fine  amphitheatre,  surrounded  with 
hills  covered  with  woods,  and  walks  neatly  formed  along 
the  side  of  a  rocky  steep,  on  the  quarter  next  the  house 
with  recesses  under  projections  of  rock,  overshadowed  with 
trees;  in  one  of  which  recesses,  we  were  told,  Congreve 
wrote  his  Old  Bachelor.  We  viewed  a  remarkable  natural 
curiosity  at  Islam;  two  rivers  bursting  near  each  other 
from  the  rock,  not  from  immediate  springs,  but  after  having 
run  for  many  miles  under  ground.  Plott,  in  his  History  of 
Staffordshire,  gives  an  account  of  this  curiosity;  but  John- 
son would  not  believe  it,  though  we  had  the  attestation  of 
the  gardener,  who  said,  he  had  put  in  corks,  where  the  river 
Manyfold  sinks  into  the  ground,  and  had  catched  them  in  a 
net,  placed  before  one  of  the  openings  where  the  water 
bursts  out.  Indeed,  such  subterraneous  courses  of  water 
are  found  in  various  parts  of  our  globe. 

Talking  of  Dr.  Johnson's  unwillingness  to  believe  extraor- 
dinary things  I  ventured  to  say,  'Sir,  you  come  near  Hume's 
argument  against  miracles,  "That  it  is  more  probable  wit- 
nesses should  lie,  or  be  mistaken,  than  that  they  should  hap- 
pen.'" Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  Hume,  taking  the  proposi- 
tion simply,  is  right.     But  the  Christian  revelation  is  not 


1777]  REPROOF  FOR  PROFANITY  347 

proved  by  the  miracles  alone,  but  as  connected  with  proph- 
ecies, and  with  the  doctrines  in  confirmation  of  which  the 
miracles  were  wrought.' 

In  the  evening,  a  gentleman-farmer,  who  was  on  a  visit 
at  Dr.  Taylor's,  attempted  to  dispute  with  Johnson  in  favour 
of  Mungo  Campbell,  who  shot  Alexander,  Earl  of  Eglin- 
toune,  upon  his  having  fallen,  when  retreating  from  his 
Lordship,  who  he  believed  was  about  to  seize  his  gun,  as  he 
had  threatened  to  do.  He  said,  he  should  have  done  just  as 
Campbell  did.  Johxson.  '  Whoever  would  do  as  Campbell 
did,  deserves  to  be  hanged;  not  that  I  could,  as  a  juryman, 
have  found  him  legally  guilty  of  murder;  but  I  am  glad 
they  found  means  to  convict  him.'  The  gentleman-farmer 
said,  'A  poor  man  has  as  much  honour  as  a  rich  man;  and 
Campbell  had  that  to  defend.'  Johnson  exclaimed,  'A  poor 
man  has  no  honour.'  The  English  yeoman,  not  dismayed, 
proceeded:  'Lord  Eglintoune  was  a  damned  fool  to  run  on 
upon  Campbell,  after  being  warned  that  Campbell  would 
shoot  him  if  he  did.'  Johnson,  who  could  not  bear  any 
thing  like  swearing,  angrily  replied,  ''He  was  not  a  damned 
■fool:,  he  only  thought  too  well  of  Campbell.  He  did  not 
believe  Campbell  would  be  such  a  damned  scoundrel,  as  to 
do  so  damned  a  thing.'  His  emphasis  on  damned,  accom- 
panied with  frowning  looks,  reproved  his  opponent's  want 
of  decorum  in  his  presence. 

During  this  interview  at  Ashbourne,  Johnson  seemed  to 
be  more  uniformly  social,  cheerful,  and  alert,  than  I  had 
almost  ever  seen  him.  He  was  prompt  on  great  occasions 
and  on  small.  Taylor,  who  praised  ever>'  thing  of  his  own 
to  excess;  in  short,  'whose  geese  were  all  swans,'  as  the 
proverb  says,  expatiated  on  the  excellence  of  his  bull-dog, 
which,  he  told  us,  was  'perfectly  well  shaped.'  Johnson, 
after  examining  the  animal  attentively,  thus  repressed  the 
vain-glory  of  our  host: — 'No,  Sir,  he  is  not  well  shaped; 
for  there  is  not  the  quick  transition  from  the  thickness  of 
the  fore-part,  to  the  tenuity — the  thin  part — ^behind, — which 
sL  bull-dog  ought  to  have.'  This  tenuity  was  the  only  hard 
word  that  I  heard  him  use  during  this  interview,  and  it  will 
lie  observed;  he  instantly  put  another  expression  in  its  place. 


348  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1777 

Taylor  said,  a  small  bull-dog  was  as  good  as  a  large  one. 
Johnson.  'No,  Sir;  for,  in  proportion  to  his  size,  he  has 
strength:  and  your  argument  would  prove,  that  a  good 
bull-dog  may  be  as  small  as  a  mouse.'  It  was  amazing  how 
he  entered  with  perspicuity  and  keenness  upon  every  thing 
that  occurred  in  conversation.  Most  men,  whom  I  know, 
would  no  more  think  of  discussing  a  question  about  a  bull-dog, 
than  of  attacking  a  bull. 

I  cannot  allow  any  fragment  whatever  that  floats  in  my 
memory  concerning  the  great  subject  of  this  work  to  be 
lost.  Though  a  small  particular  may  appear  trifling  to 
some,  it  will  be  reUshed  by  others;  while  every  little  spark 
adds  something  to  the  general  blaze:  and  to  please  the 
true,  candid,  warm  admirers  of  Johnson,  and  in  any  degree 
increase  the  splendour  of  his  reputation,  I  bid  defiance  to 
the  shafts  of  ridicule,  or  even  of  malignity.  Showers  of 
them  have  been  discharged  at  my  Journal  of  a  Tour  to  the 
Hebrides;  yet  it  still  sails  unhurt  along  the  stream  of  time,, 
and,  as  an  attendant  upon  Johnson, 

'Pursues  the  triumph,  and  partakes  the  gale.* 

One  morning  after  breakfast,  when  the  sun  shone  bright, 
we  walked  out  together,  and  'pored'  for  some  time  with 
placid  indolence  upon  an  artificial  water-fall,  which  Dr. 
Taylor  had  made  by  building  a  strong  dyke  of  stone  across 
the  river  behind  the  garden.  It  was  now  somewhat  ob- 
structed by  branches  of  trees  and  other  rubbish,  which  had 
come  down  the  river,  and  settled  close  to  it.  Johnson,, 
partly  from  a  desire  to  see  it  play  more  freely,  and  partly 
from  that  inclination  to  activity  which  will  animate,  at 
times,  the  most  inert  and  sluggish  mortal,  took  a  long  pole 
which  was  lying  on  a  bank,  and  pushed  down  several  parcel* 
of  this  wreck  with  painful  assiduity,  while  I  stood  quietly 
by,  wondering  to  behold  the  sage  thus  curiously  employed,, 
and  smiling  with  an  humorous  satisfaction  each  time  when 
he  carried  his  point.  He  worked  till  he  was  quite  out  of 
breath;  and  having  found  a  large  dead  cat  so  heavy  that 
he  could  not  move  it  after  several  efforts,  'Come,'  said  he,. 


1777]  PRIOR'S  POEMS  34^ 

(throwing  down  the  pole,)  'you  shall  take  it  now;'  which  I 
accordingly  did,  and  being  a  fresh  man,  soon  made  the  cat 
tumble  over  the  cascade.  This  may  be  laughed  at  as  too 
trifling  to  record;  but  it  is  a  small  characteristick  trait  in 
the  Flemish  picture  which  I  give  of  my  friend,  and  in  which, 
therefore  I  mark  the  most  minute  particulars.  And  let  it 
be  remembered,  that  jEsop  at  play  is  one  of  the  instructive 
apologues  of  antiquity. 

Talking  of  Rochester's  Poems,  he  said,  he  had  given  them 
to  Mr.  Steevens  to  castrate  for  the  edition  of  the  poets,  to 
which  he  was  to  write  Prefaces.  Dr.  Taylor  (the  only  time 
I  ever  heard  him  say  any  thing  witty)  observed,  that  'if 
Rochester  had  been  castrated  himself,  his  exceptionable 
poems  would  not  have  been  written.'  I  asked  if  Burnet 
had  not  given  a  good  Life  of  Rochester,  Johnson.  'We 
have  a  good  Deaih :  there  is  not  much  Life.'  I  asked  whether 
Prior's  Poems  were  to  be  printed  entire:  Johnson  said  they 
were.  I  mentioned  Lord  Hailes's  censure  of  Prior,  in  his 
Preface  to  a  collection  of  Sacred  Poems,  by  various  hands,, 
published  by  him  at  Edinburgh  a  great  many  years  ago, 
where  he  mentions,  'those  impure  tales  which  will  be  the 
eternal  opprobrium  of  their  ingenious  authour.'  Johnson. 
'Sir,  Lord  Hailes  has  forgot.  There  is  nothing  in  Prior  that 
will  excite  to  lewdness.  If  Lord  Hailes  thinks  there  is,  he 
must  be  more  combustible  than  other  people.'  I  instanced 
the  tale  of  Paido  Purganti  and  his  Wife.  Johnson.  'Sir, 
there  is  nothing  there,  but  that  his  wife  wanted  to  be  kissed 
when  poor  Paulo  was  out  of  pocket.  No,  Sir,  Prior  is  a 
lady's  book.  No  lady  is  ashamed  to  have  it  standing  in  her 
library.' 

The  hypochondriack  disorder  being  mentioned.  Dr.  John- 
son did  not  think  it  so  common  as  I  supposed.  'Dr.  Taylor 
(said  he,)  is  the  same  one  day  as  another.  Burke  and 
Reynolds  are  the  same;  Beauclerk,  except  when  in  pain, 
is  the  same.  I  am  not  so  myself;  but  this  I  do  not  men- 
tion commonly.' 

Dr.  Johnson  advised  me  to-day,  to  have  as  many  books 
about  me  as  I  could;  that  I  might  read  upon  any  subject 
upon  which  I  had  a  desire  for  instruction  at  the  time.     'What 


350  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1777 

you  read  then  (said  he,)  you  will  remember;  but  if  you  have 
not  a  book  immediately  ready,  and  the  subject  moulds  in 
your  mind,  it  is  a  chance  if  you  again  have  a  desire  to  study 
it.'  He  added,  'If  a  man  never  has  an  eager  desire  for  in- 
struction, he  should  prescribe  a  task  for  himself.  But  it  is 
better  when  a  man  reads  from  immediate  inclination.' 

He  repeated  a  good  many  hues  of  Horace's  Odes,  while 
we  were  in  the  chaise.  I  remember  particularly  the  Ode 
Eheu  fugaces. 

He  told  me  that  Bacon  was  a  favourite  authour  with  him; 
but  he  had  never  read  his  works  till  he  was  compiling  the 
English  Dictionary,  in  which,  he  said,  I  might  see  Bacon  very 
often  quoted.  Mr.  Seward  recollects  his  having  mentioned, 
that  a  Dictionary  of  the  English  Language  might  be  com- 
piled from  Bacon's  writings  alone,  and  that  he  had  once  an 
intention  of  giving  an  edition  of  Bacon,  at  least  of  his  Eng- 
lish works,  and  writing  the  Life  of  that  great  man.  Had  he 
executed  this  intention,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  would 
have  done  it  in  a  most  masterly  manner. 

Wishing  to  be  satisfied  what  degree  of  truth  there  was  in 
a  story  which  a  friend  of  Johnson's  and  mine  had  told  me 
to  his  disadvantage,  I  mentioned  it  to  him  in  direct  terms; 
and  it  was  to  this  effect:  that  a  gentleman  who  had  lived 
in  great  intimacy  with  him,  shewn  him  much  kindness,  and 
even  relieved  him  from  a  spunging-house,  having  afterwards 
fallen  into  bad  circumstances,  was  one  day,  when  Johnson 
was  at  dinner  with  him,  seized  for  debt,  and  carried  to 
prison;  that  Johnson  sat  still  undisturbed,  and  went  on 
eating  and  drinking;  upon  which  the  gentleman's  sister,  who 
was  present,  could  not  suppress  her  indignation:  'What, 
Sir,  (said  she,)  are  you  so  unfeeling,  as  not  even  to  offer  to 
go  to  my  brother  in  his  distress;  you  who  have  been  so  much 
obliged  to  him?'  And  that  Johnson  answered,  'Madam, 
I  owe  him  no  obligation;  what  he  did  for  me  he  would  have 
done  for  a  dog.' 

Johnson  assured  me,  that  the  story  was  absolutely  false: 
but  like  a  man  conscious  of  being  in  the  right,  and  desirous 
of  completely  vindicating  himself  from  such  a  charge,  he  did 
not  arrogantly  rest  on  a  mere  denial,  and  on  his  general 


17771  PRONUNCIATION  351 

character,  but  proceeded  thus: — 'Sir,  I  was  very  intimate 
with  that  gentleman,  and  was  once  relieved  by  him  from  an 
arrest ;  but  I  never  was  present  when  he  -was  arrested,  never 
knew  that  he  was  arrested,  and  I  believe  he  never  was  in 
difficulties  after  the  time  when  he  relieved  me.  I  loved  him 
much;  yet,  in  talking  of  his  general  character,  I  may  have 
said,  though  I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever  did  say  so,  that 
as  his  generosity  proceeded  from  no  principle,  but  was  a 
part  of  his  profusion,  he  would  do  for  a  dog  what  he  would 
do  for  a  friend:  but  I  never  applied  this  remark  to  any  par- 
ticular instance,  and  certainly  not  to  his  kindness  to  me. 
If  a  profuse  man,  who  does  not  value  his  money,  and  gives  a 
large  sum  to  a  whore,  gives  half  as  much,  or  an  equally  large 
sum  to  relieve  a  friend,  it  cannot  be  esteemed  as  virtue. 
This  was  all  that  I  could  say  of  that  gentleman;  and,  if 
said  at  all,  it  mast  have  been  said  after  his  death.  Sir,  I 
would  have  gone  to  the  world's  end  to  relieve  him.  The  re- 
mark about  the  dog,  if  made  by  me,  was  such  a  sally  as 
might  escape  one  when  painting  a  man  highly.' 

On  Tuesday,  September  23,  Johnson  was  remarkably  cor- 
dial to  me.  It  being  necessary  for  me  to  return  to  Scotland 
soon,  I  had  fixed  on  the  next  day  for  ray  setting  out,  and  I 
felt  a  tender  concern  at  the  thought  of  parting  with  him. 
He  had,  at  this  time,  frankly  communicated  to  me  many 
particulars,  which  are  inserted  in  this  work  in  their  proper 
places;  and  once,  when  I  happened  to  mention  that  the 
expence  of  my  jaunt  would  come  to  much  more  than  I  had 
computed,  he  said,  'Why,  Sir,  if  the  expence  were  to  be  an 
inconvenience,  you  would  have  reason  to  regret  it:  but,  if 
you  have  had  the  money  to  spend,  I  know  not  that  you  could 
have  purchased  as  much  pleasure  with  it  in  any  other  way.' 

I  perceived  that  he  pronounced  the  word  heard,  as  if  spelt 
with  a  double  e,  heerd,  instead  of  sounding  it  herd,  as  is  most 
usually  done.  He  said,  his  reason  was,  that  if  it  was  pro- 
nounced herd,  there  would  be  a  single  exception  from  the 
English  pronunciation  of  the  syllable  ear,  and  he  thought  it 
better  not  to  have  that  exception. 

In  the  evening  our  gentleman-farmer,  and  two  others,  en- 
tertained themselves  and  the  company  with  a  great  number 


352  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1777 

of  tunes  on  the  fiddle.  Johnson  desired  to  have  'Let  am- 
bition fire  thy  mind/  played  over  again,  and  appeared  to 
give  a  patient  attention  to  it;  though  he  owned  to  me  that 
he  was  very  insensible  to  the  power  of  musick.  I  told  him, 
that  it  affected  me  to  such  a  degree,  as  often  to  agitate  my 
nerves  painfully,  producing  in  my  mind  alternate  sensations 
of  pathetick  dejection,  so  that  I  was  ready  to  shed  tears; 
and  of  daring  resolution,  so  that  I  was  inclined  to  rush  into 
the  thickest  part  of  the  battle.  '  Sir,  (said  he,)  I  should  never 
hear  it,  if  it  made  me  such  a  fool.' 

This  evening,  while  some  of  the  tunes  of  ordinary  com- 
position were  played  with  no  great  skill,  my  frame  was  agi- 
tated, and  I  was  conscious  of  a  generous  attachment  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  as  my  preceptor  and  friend,  mixed  with  an  affec- 
tionate regret  that  he  was  an  old  man,  whom  I  should  prob- 
ably lose  in  a  short  time.  I  thought  I  could  defend  him  at 
the  point  of  my  sword.  My  reverence  and  affection  for  him 
were  in  full  glow.  I  said  to  him,  'My  dear  Sir,  we  must 
meet  every  year,  if  you  don't  quarrel  with  me.'  Johnson. 
'Nay,  Sir,  you  are  more  likely  to  quarrel  with  me,  than  I 
with  you.  My  regard  for  you  is  greater  almost  than  I  have 
words  to  express;  but  I  do  not  choose  to  be  always  repeat- 
ing it;  write  it  down  in  the  first  leaf  of  your  pocket-book, 
and  never  doubt  of  it  again.' 

I  talked  to  him  of  misery  being  'the  doom  of  man'  in  this 
life,  as  displayed  in  his  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes.  Yet  I 
observed  that  things  were  done  upon  the  supposition  of 
happiness;  grand  houses  were  built,  fine  gardens  were  made, 
splendid  places  of  publick  amusement  were  contrived,  and 
crowded  with  company.  Johnson.  'Alas,  Sir,  these  are  all 
only  struggles  for  happiness.  When  I  first  entered  Rane- 
lagh,  it  gave  an  expansion  and  gay  sensation  to  my  mind, 
such  as  I  never  experienced  any  where  else.  But,  as  Xerxes 
wept  when  he  viewed  his  immense  army,  and  considered 
that  not  one  of  that  great  multitude  would  be  alive  a  hun- 
dred years  afterwards,  so  it  went  to  my  heart  to  consider 
that  there  was  not  one  in  all  that  brilliant  circle,  that  was 
not  afraid  to  go  home  and  think;  but  that  the  thoughts  of 
each  individual  there,  would  be  distressing  when  alone.' 


1777]  DISLIKE  OF  SLAVERY  353 

I  suggested,  that  being  in  love,  and  flattered  with  hopes  of 
success;  or  having  some  favourite  scheme  in  view  for  the 
next  day,  might  prevent  that  wretchedness  of  which  we  had 
been  talking.  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  it  may  sometimes  be 
so  as  you  suppose;  but  my  conclusion  is  in  general  but  too 
true.' 

While  Johnson  and  I  stood  in  calm  conference  by  our- 
selves in  Dr.  Taylor's  garden,  at  a  pretty  late  hour  in  a 
serene  autumn  night,  looking  up  to  the  heavens,  I  directed 
the  discourse  to  the  subject  of  a  future  state.  My  friend 
was  in  a  placid  and  most  benignant  frame.  'Sir,  (said  he,) 
I  do  not  imagine  that  all  things  will  be  made  clear  to  us  im- 
mediately after  death,  but  that  the  ways  of  Providence  will 
be  explained  to  us  very  gradually.'  He  talked  to  me  upon 
this  aweful  and  delicate  question  in  a  gentle  tone,  and  as  if 
afraid  to  be  decisive. 

After  supper  I  accompanied  him  to  his  apartment,  and  at 
my  request  he  dictated  to  me  an  argument  in  favour  of  the 
negro  who  was  then  claiming  his  liberty,  in  an  action  in  the 
Court  of  Session  in  Scotland.  He  had  always  been  very 
zealous  against  slavery  in  every  form,  in  which  I,  with  all 
deference,  thought  that  he  discovered  '  a  zeal  without  knowl- 
edge.' Upon  one  occasion,  when  in  company  with  some 
very  grave  men  at  Oxford,  his  toast  was,  'Here's  to  the  next 
insurrection  of  the  negroes  in  the  West  Indies.'  His  violent 
prejudice  against  our  West  Indian  and  American  settlers 
appeared  whenever  there  was  an  opportunity.  Towards 
the  conclusion  of  his  Taxation  no  Tyranny,  he  says,  'how  is 
it  that  we  hear  the  loudest  yelps  for  liberty  among  the  drivers 
of  negroes  ? ' 

When  I  said  now  to  Johnson,  that  I  was  afraid  I  kept  him 
too  late  up.  'No,  Sir,  (said  he,)  I  don't  care  though  I  sit 
all  night  with  you.'  This  was  an  animated  speech  from  a 
man  in  his  sixty-ninth  year. 

Had  I  been  as  attentive  not  to  displease  him  as  I  ought  to 
have  been,  I  know  not  but  this  vigil  might  have  been  ful- 
filled; but  I  unluckily  entered  upon  the  controversy  con- 
cerning the  right  of  Great-Britain  to  tax  America,  and  at- 
tempted to  argue  in  favour  of  our  fellow-subjects  on  the 


354  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  U777 

other  side  of  the  Atlantick.  I  insisted  that  America  might 
be  very  well  governed,  and  made  to  yield  sufficient  revenue 
by  the  means  of  influence,  as  exemplified  in  Ireland,  while 
the  people  might  be  pleased  with  the  imagination  of  their 
participating  of  the  British  constitution,  by  having  a  body 
of  representatives,  without  whose  consent  money  could  not 
be  exacted  from  them.  Johnson  could  not  bear  my  thus 
opposing  his  avowed  opinion,  which  he  had  exerted  himself 
with  an  extreme  degree  of  heat  to  enforce;  and  the  violent 
agitation  into  which  he  was  thrown,  while  answering,  or 
rather  reprimanding  me,  alarmed  me  so,  that  I  heartily  re- 
pented of  my  having  unthinkingly  introduced  the  subject. 
I  myself,  however,  grew  warm,  and  the  change  was  great, 
from  the  calm  state  of  philosophical  discussion  in  which  we 
had  a  little  before  been  pleasingly  employed. 

We  were  fatigued  by  the  contest,  which  was  produced  by 
my  want  of  caution;  and  he  was  not  then  in  the  humour  to 
slide  into  easy  and  cheerful  talk.  It  therefore  so  happened, 
that  we  were  after  an  hour  or  two  very  willing  to  separate 
and  go  to  bed. 

On  Wednesday,  September  24,  I  went  into  Dr.  Johnson's 
room  before  he  got  up,  and  finding  that  the  storm  of  the  pre- 
ceding night  was  quite  laid,  I  sat  down  upon  his  bed-side, 
and  he  talked  with  as  much  readiness  and  good-humour  as 
ever.  He  recommended  to  me  to  plant  a  considerable  part 
of  a  large  moorish  farm  which  I  had  purchased,  and  he  made 
several  calculations  of  the  expence  and  profit:  for  he  de- 
lighted in  exercising  his  mind  on  the  science  of  numbers. 
He  pressed  up)on  me  the  importance  of  planting  at  the  first 
in  a  very  sufficient  manner,  quoting  the  saying  'In  hello  non 
licet  his  errare  ;'  and  adding,  'this  is  equally  true  in  planting.' 

I  spoke  with  gratitude  of  Dr.  Taylor's  hospitality;  and, 
as  evidence  that  it  was  not  on  account  of  his  good  table 
alone  that  Johnson  visited  him  often,  I  mentioned  a  little 
anecdote  which  had  escaped  my  friend's  recollection,  and  at 
hearing  which  repeated,  he  smiled.  One  evening,  when  I  was 
sitting  with  him,  Frank  delivered  this  message :  '  Sir,  Dr.  Tay- 
lor sends  his  compliments  to  you,  and  begs  you  will  dine 
with  him  to-morrow.     He  has  got  a  hare.' — 'My  compli- 


1777]    AN  INNKEEPER'S  VIEW  OF  JOHNSON      355 

ments  (said  Johnson,)  and  I'll  dine  with  him — hare  or 
rabbit.' 

After  breakfast  I  departed,  and  pursued  my  journey 
northwards.  I  took  my  post-chaise  from  the  Green  Man, 
a  very  good  inn  at  Ashbourne,  the  mistress  of  which,  a 
mighty  civil  gentlewoman,  courtseying  very  low,  presented 
me  with  an  engraving  of  the  sign  of  her  house;  to  which  she 
had  subjoined,  in  her  own  hand-writing,  an  address  in  such 
singular  simplicity  of  style,  that  I  have  preserved  it  pasted 
upon  one  of  the  boards  of  my  original  Journal  at  this  time, 
and  shall  here  insert  it  for  the  amusement  of  my  readers: — 

'M.  KILLINGLEY's  duty  waits  upon  Mr.  Boswell,  is  ex- 
ceedingly obliged  to  him  for  this  favour;  whenever  he  comes  this 
way,  hopes  for  a  continuance  of  the  same.  Would  Mr.  Boswell 
name  the  house  to  his  extensive  a^^quaintance,  it  would  he  a 
singular  favour  conferred  on  one  who  has  it  not  in  her  power  to 
make  any  other  return  hul  her  most  grateful  thanks,  and  sincerest 
prayers  for  his  happiness  in  tim£,  and  in  a  blessed  eternity. — 
Tuesday  mom.' 

I  cannot  omit  a  curious  circumstance  which  occurred  at 
Edensor-inn,  close  by  Chatsworth,  to  survey  the  magnifi- 
cence of  which  I  had  gone  a  considerable  way  out  of  my 
road  to  Scotland.  The  inn  was  then  kept  by  a  very  jolly 
landlord,  whose  name,  I  think,  was  Malton.  He  happened 
to  mention  that  'the  celebrated  Dr.  Johnson  had  been  in  his 
house.'  I  inquired  who  this  Dr.  Johnson  was,  that  I  might 
hear  mine  host's  notion  of  him.  'Sir,  (said  he,)  Johnson,  the 
great  writer;  Oddity,  as  they  call  him.  He's  the  greatest 
writer  in  England;  he  writes  for  the  ministry;  he  has  a 
correspondence  abroad,  and  lets  them  know  what's  going  on.' 

My  friend,  who  had  a  thorough  dependance  upon  the 
authenticity  of  my  relation  without  any  embellishtnent,  as 
falsehood  or  fiction  is  too  gently  called,  laughed  a  good  deal 
at  this  representation  of  himself. 

On  Wednesday,  March  18,'  I  arrived  in  London,  and  was 
informed  by  good  Mr.  Francis  that  his  master  was  better, 
and  was  gone  to  Mr.  Thrale's  at  Streatham,  to  which  place 
I  wrote  to  him,  begging  to  know  when  he  would  be  in  town. 

>  1778. 


356  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

He  was  not  expected  for  some  time;  but  next  day  having 
•called  on  Dr.  Taylor,  in  Dean's-yard,  Westminster,  I  found 
him  there,  and  was  told  he  had  come  to  town  for  a  few  hours. 
He  met  me  with  his  usual  kindness,  but  instantly  returned 
to  the  writing  of  something  on  which  he  was  employed  when 
I  came  in,  and  on  which  he  seemed  much  intent.  Finding 
him  thus  engaged,  I  made  my  visit  very  short. 

On  Friday,  March  20,  I  found  him  at  his  own  house,  sit- 
ting with  Mrs.  Williams,  and  was  informed  that  the  room 
formerly  allotted  to  me  was  now  appropriated  to  a  charitable 
purpose;  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  and  I  think  her  daughter,  and  a 
Miss  Carmichael,  being  all  lodged  in  it.  Such  was  his  hu- 
manity, and  such  his  generosity,  that  Mrs.  Desmoulins  her- 
self told  me,  he  allowed  her  half-a-guinea  a  week.  Let  it  be  re- 
membered, that  this  was  above  a  twelfth  part  of  his  pension. 

His  liberality,  indeed,  was  at  all  periods  of  his  life  very 
remarkable.  Mr.  Howard,  of  Lichfield,  at  whose  father's 
house  Johnson  had  in  his  early  years  been  kindly  received, 
told  me,  that  when  he  was  a  boy  at  the  Charter-House,  his 
father  wrote  to  him  to  go  and  pay  a  visit  to  Mr.  Samuel 
Johnson,  which  he  accordingly  did,  and  found  him  in  an 
upper  room,  of  poor  appearance.  Johnson  received  him 
with  much  courteousness,  and  talked  a  great  deal  to  him,  as 
to  a  school-boy,  of  the  course  of  his  education,  and  other 
particulars.  When  he  afterwards  came  to  know  and  under- 
stand the  high  character  of  this  great  man,  he  recollected  his 
condescension  with  wonder.  He  added,  that  when  he  was 
going  away,  Mr.  Johnson  presented  him  with  half-a-guinea; 
and  this,  said  Mr.  Howard,  was  at  a  time  when  he  probably 
had  not  another. 

We  retired  from  Mrs.  Williams  to  another  room.  Tom 
Davies  soon  after  joined  us.  He  had  now  unfortunately 
failed  in  his  circumstances,  and  was  much  indebted  to  Dr. 
Johnson's  kindness  for  obtaining  for  him  many  alleviations 
of  his  distress.  After  he  went  away,  Johnson  blamed  his 
folly  in  quitting  the  stage,  by  which  he  and  his  wife  got  five 
hundred  pounds  a  year.  I  said,  I  believed  jit  was  owing  to 
Churchill's  attack  upon  him, 

*  He  mouths  a  sentence,  as  cura  mouth  a  bone.' 


1778]  LITERAL  TRUTH  ,367 

Johnson.  'I  believe  so  too,  Sir.  But  what  a  man  is  he, 
who  is  to  be  driven  from  the  stage  by  a  line?  Another  line 
would  have  driven  him  from  his  shop.' 

He  returned  next  day  to  Streatham,  to  Mr.  Thrale's; 
where,  as  Mr.  Strahan  once  complained  to  me,  'he  was 
in  a  great  measure  absorbed  from  the  society  of  his  old 
friends.'  I  was  kept  in  London  by  business,  and  wrote  to 
him  on  the  27th,  that  a  separation  from  him  for  a  week, 
when  we  were  so  near,  was  equal  to  a  separation  for  a  year, 
when  we  were  at  four  hundred  miles  distance.  I  went  to 
Streatham  on  Monday,  March  30.  Before  he  appeared, 
Mrs.  Thrale  made  a  very  characteristical  remark: — 'I  do 
not  know  for  certain  what  will  please  Dr.  Johnson:  but  I 
know  for  certain  that  it  will  displease  him  to  praise  any 
thing,  even  what  he  likes,  extravagantly.' 

At  dinner  he  laughed  at  querulous  declamations  against, 
the  age,  on  account  of  luxury, — increase  of  London, — scarcity 
of  provisions, — and  other  such  topicks.  'Houses  (said  he,) 
will  be  built  till  rents  fall:  and  com  is  more  plentiful  now 
than  ever  it  was.' 

I  had  before  dinner  repeated  a  ridiculous  story  told  me 
by  an  old  man  who  had  been  a  passenger  with  me  in  the 
stage-coach  to-day.  Mrs.  Thrale,  having  taken  occasion  to 
allude  to  it  in  talking  to  me,  called  it  '  The  story  told  you  by 
the  old  woman.' — 'Now,  Madam,  (said  I,)  give  me  leave  to 
catch  you  in  the  fact;  it  was  not  an  old  woman,  but  an  old 
man,  whom  I  mentioned  as  having  told  me  this.'  I  pre- 
sumed to  take  an  opportunity,  in  presence  of  Johnson,  of 
shewing  this  lively  lady  how  ready  she  was,  unintentionally, 
to  deviate  from  exact  authenticity  of  narration. 

Next  morning,  while  we  were  at  breakfast,  Johnson  gave 
a  very  earnest  recommendation  of  what  he  himself  practised 
with  the  utmost  conscientiousness:  I  mean  a  strict  atten- 
tion to  truth,  even  in  the  most  minute  particulars.  'Accus- 
tom your  children  (said  he,)  constantly  to  this;  if  a  thing 
happened  at  one  window,  and  they,  when  relating  it,  say 
that  it  happened  at  another,  do  not  let  it  pass,  but  instantly 
check  them;  you  do  not  know  where  deviation  from  truth 
will  end.'    Boswell.     'It  mav  come  to  the  door:  and  when 


358  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

once  an  account  is  at  all  varied  in  one  circumstance,  it  may 
by  degrees  be  varied  so  as  to  be  totally  different  from  what 
really  happened.'  Our  lively  hostess,  whose  fancy  was  im- 
patient of  the  rein,  fidgeted  at  this,  and  ventured  to  say, 
'Nay,  this  is  too  much.  If  Mr.  Johnson  should  forbid  me 
to  drink  tea,  I  would  comply,  as  I  should  feel  the  restraint 
only  twice  a  day;  but  little  variations  in  narrative  must 
happen  a  thousand  times  a  day,  if  one  is  not  perjjetually 
watching.'  Johnson.  'Well,  Madam,  and  you  ought  to  be 
perpetually  watching.  It  is  more  from  carelessness  about 
truth  than  from  intentional  lying,  that  there  is  so  much  false- 
hood in  the  world.' 

He  was  indeed  so  much  impressed  with  the  prevalence  of 
falsehood,  voluntary  or  unintentional,  that  I  never  knew 
any  person  who  upon  hearing  an  extraordinary  circumstance 
told,  discovered  more  of  the  incredidtis  odi.  He  would  say, 
with  a  significant  look  and  decisive  tone,  'It  is  not  so.  Do 
not  tell  this  again.'  He  inculcated  upon  all  his  friends  the 
importance  of  perpetual  vigilance  against  the  slightest  degrees 
of  falsehood;  the  effect  of  which,  as  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
observed  to  me,  has  been,  that  all  who  were  of  his  school  are 
distinguished  for  a  love  of  truth  and  accuracy,  which  they 
would  not  have  possessed  in  the  same  degree,  if  they  had  not 
been  acquainted  with  Johnson. 

Talking  of  ghosts,  he  said,  'It  is  wonderful  that  five 
thousand  years  have  now  elapsed  since  the  creation  of  the 
world,  and  still  it  is  undecided  whether  or  not  there  has  ever 
been  an  instance  of  the  spirit  of  any  person  appearing  after 
death.    All  argument  is  against  it;  but  all  belief  is  for  it.' 

He  said,  'John  Wesley's  conversation  is  good,  but  he  is 
never  at  leisure.  He  is  always  obliged  to  go  at  a  certain 
hour.  This  is  very  disagreeable  to  a  man  who  loves  to  fold 
his  legs  and  have  out  his  talk,  as  I  do.' 

On  Friday,  April  3,  I  dined  with  him  in  London,  in  a 
company^  where  were  present  several  eminent  men,  whom 
I  shall  not  name,  but  distinguish  their  parts  in  the  conver- 
sation by  different  letters. 

1  The  Club.  Hill  identifies  E.  as  Burke  and  J.  as  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds.— Ed. 


1778]  EMIGRATION  359 

E.  *We  hear  prodigious  complaints  at  present  of  emigra- 
tion. I  am  convinced  that  emigration  makes  a  country 
more  populous.'  J.  'That  sounds  very  much  like  a  para- 
dox.' E.  'Exportation  of  men,  like  exportation  of  all 
other  commodities,  makes  more  be  produced.'  Johnson. 
'But  there  would  be  more  people  were  there  not  emigration, 
provided  there  were  food  for  more.'  E.  'No;  leave  a  few 
breeders,  and  you'll  have  more  people  than  if  there  were  no 
emigration.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  it  is  plain  there  will  be 
more  people,  if  there  are  more  breeders.  Thirty  cows  in 
good  pasture  will  produce  more  calves  than  ten  cows,  pro- 
vided they  have  good  bulls.'  E.  'There  are  bulls  enough 
in  Ireland.'  Johnson,  (smiling,)  'So,  Sir,  I  should  think 
from  your  argument.' 

E.  'I  believe,  in  any  body  of  men  in  England,  I  should 
have  been  in  the  Minority;  I  have  always  been  in  the  Mi- 
nority.' P.  'The  House  of  Commons  resembles  a  private 
company.  How  seldom  is  any  man  convinced  by  another's 
argument;  passion  and  pride  rise  against  it.'  R.  'What 
would  be  the  consequence,  if  a  Minister,  sure  of  a  majority  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  should  resolve  that  there  should  be 
no  speaking  at  all  upon  his  side.'  E.  'He  must  soon  go 
out.  That  has  been  tried;  but  it  was  found  it  would  not 
do.'  .... 

Johnson.  'I  have  been  reading  Thicknesse's  Travels, 
which  I  think  are  entertaining.'  Boswell.  'What,  Sir, 
a  good  book?'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  to  read  once;  I  do 
not  say  you  are  to  make  a  study  of  it,  and  digest  it;  and  I 
believe  it  to  be  a  true  book  in  his  intention.' 

E.  '  From  the  experience  which  I  have  had, — and  I  have 
had  a  great  deal, — I  have  learnt  to  think  better  of  mankind.' 
Johnson.  'From  my  experience  I  have  found  them  worse 
in  commercial  dealings,  more  di.sposed  to  cheat,  than  I  had 
any  notion  of;  but  more  disposed  to  do  one  another  good 
than  I  had  conceived.'  J.  'Less  just  and  more  beneficent.' 
Johnson.  'And  really  it  is  wonderful,  considering  how 
much  attention  is  necessar>'  for  men  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves, and  ward  off  immediate  evils  which  press  upon  them, 
it  is  wonderful  how  much  they  do  for  others.     As  it  is  said 


360  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  (i778 

of  the  greatest  liar,  that  he  tells  more  truth  than  falsehood; 
so  it  may  be  said  of  the  worst  man,  that  he  does  more  good 
than  evil.'  Boswell.  'Perhaps  from  experience  men  may 
be  found  happier  than  we  suppose.'  Johnson.  '  No,  Sir;  the 
more  we  enquire,  we  shall  find  men  the  less  happy.' 

E.  'I  understand  the  hogshead  of  claret,  which  this 
society  was  favoured  with  by  our  friend  the  Dean,  is  nearly 
out;  I  think  he  should  be  written  to,  to  send  another  of  the 
same  kind.  Let  the  request  be  made  with  a  happy  am- 
biguity of  expression,  so  that  we  may  have  the  chance  of  his 
sending  it  also  as  a  present.'  Johnson.  'I  am  willing  to 
ofifer  my  services  as  secretary  on  this  occasion.'  P.  'As 
many  as  are  for  Dr.  Johnson  being  secretary  hold  up  your 
hands. — Carried  unanimously.'  Boswell.  'He  will  be  our 
Dictator.'  Johnson.  'No,  the  company  is  to  dictate  to 
me.  I  am  only  to  write  for  wine;  and  I  am  quite  disinter- 
ested, as  I  drink  none;  I  shall  not  be  suspected  of  having 
forged  the  application.  I  am  no  more  than  humble  scribe.' 
E.  'Then  you  shall  prescribe.'  Boswell.  'Very  well. 
The  first  play  of  words  to-day.'  J.  'No,  no;  the  bulls  in 
Ireland.'  Johnson.  'Were  I  your  Dictator  you  should  have 
no  wine.  It  would  be  my  business  cavere  ne  quid  detrimenti 
Respublica  caperet,  and  wine  is  dangerous.  Rome  was  ruined 
by  luxury,'  (smiling.)  E.  'If  you  allow  no  wine  as  Dic- 
tator, you  shall  not  have  me  for  your  master  of  horse.' 

On  Saturday,  April  4,  I  drank  tea  with  Johnson  at  Dr. 
Taylor's,  where  he  had  dined. 

He  was  very  silent  this  evening;  and  read  in  a  variety  of 
books:  suddenly  throwing  down  one,  and  taking  up  another. 

He  talked  of  going  to  Streatham  that  night.  Taylor. 
'You'll  be  robbed  if  you  do:  or  you  must  shoot  a  highway- 
man. Now  I  would  rather  be  robbed  than  do  that;  I  would 
not  shoot  a  highwayman.'  Johnson.  'But  I  would  rather 
shoot  him  in  the  instant  when  he  is  attempting  to  rob  me, 
than  afterwards  swear  against  him  at  the  Old-Bailey,  to  take 
away  his  life,  after  he  has  robbed  me.  I  am  surer  I  am  right 
in  the  one  case  than  in  the  other.  I  may  be  mistaken  as  to 
the  man,  when  I  swear:  I  cannot  be  mistaken,  if  I  shoot  him 
in  the  act.     Besides,  we  feel  less  reluctance  to  take  away 


17781  NOBODY  CONTENT  361 

a  man's  life,  when  we  are  heated  by  the  injury,  than  to  do  it 
at  a  distance  of  time  by  an  oath,  after  we  have  cooled.' 
BoswELL.  'So,  Sir,  you  would  rather  act  from  the  motive 
of  private  passion,  than  that  of  publick  advantage.'  John- 
son. 'Nay,  Sir,  when  I  shoot  the  highwayman  I  act  from 
both.'  BoswELL.  'Very  well,  very  well. — There  is  no 
catching  him.'  Johnson.  'At  the  same  time  one  does  not 
know  what  to  say.  For  perhaps  one  may,  a  year  after,  hang 
himself  from  uneasiness  for  having  shot  a  man.  Few  minds 
are  fit  to  be  trusted  with  so  great  a  thing.'  Boswell. 
'Then,  Sir,  you  would  not  shoot  him?'  Johnson.  'But  I 
might  be  vexed  afterwards  for  that  too.' 

Thrale's  carriage  not  having  come  for  him,  as  he  expected, 
I  accompanied  him  some  part  of  the  way  home  to  his  own 
house.  I  told  him,  that  I  had  talked  of  him  to  Mr.  Dunning 
a  few  days  before,  and  had  said,  that  in  his  company  we  did 
not  so  much  interchange  conversation,  as  listen  to  him;  and 
that  Dunning  observed,  upon  this,  'One  is  always  willing  to 
listen  to  Dr.  Johnson:'  to  which  I  answered,  'That  is  a  great 
deal  from  you,  Sir.' — 'Yes,  Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  a  great  deal 
indeed.  Here  is  a  man  willing  to  listen,  to  whom  the  world 
is  listening  all  the  rest  of  the  year.'  Boswell.  'I  think, 
Sir,  it  is  right  to  tell  one  man  of  such  a  handsome  thing, 
which  has  been  said  of  him  by  another.  It  tends  to  increase 
benevolence.'    Johnson.     '  Undoubtedly  it  is  right.  Sir.' 

On  Tuesday,  April  7,  I  breakfasted  with  him  at  his  house. 
He  said,  'nobody  was  content.'  I  mentioned  to  him  a  re- 
spectable person  in  Scotland  whom  he  knew;  and  I  asserted, 
that  I  really  believed  he  was  always  content.  Johnson. 
'No,  Sir,  he  is  not  content  with  the  present;  he  has  always 
some  new  scheme,  some  new  plantation,  something  which  is 
future.  You  know  he  was  not  content  as  a  widower;  for  he 
married  again.'  Boswell.  'But  he  is  not  restless.'  John- 
son. 'Sir,  he  is  only  locally  at  rest.  A  chymist  is  locally 
at  rest;  but  his  mind  is  hard  at  work.  This  gentleman  has 
done  with  external  exertions.  It  is  too  late  for  him  to  en- 
gage in  distant  projects.'  Boswell.  'He  seems  to  amuse 
himself  quite  well;  to  have  his  attention  fixed,  and  his  tran- 
quillity preserved  by  very  small  matters.     I  have  tried  this; 


362  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

but  it  would  not  do  with  me.'  Johnson,  (laughing,)  'No, 
Sir;  it  must  be  born  with  a  man  to  be  contented  to  take  up 
with  little  things.  Women  have  a  great  advantage  that  they 
may  take  up  with  little  things,  without  disgracing  themselves: 
a  man  cannot,  except  with  fiddling.  Had  I  learnt  to  fiddle, 
I  should  have  done  nothing  else.'  Boswell.  'Pray,  Sir, 
did  you  ever  play  on  any  musical  instrument?'  Johnson. 
'No,  Sir.  I  once  bought  me  a  flagelet;  but  I  never  made 
out  a  tune.'  Boswell.  'A  flagelet.  Sir! — so  small  an  in- 
strument? I  should  have  liked  to  hear  you  play  on  the 
violoncello.  That  should  have  been  your  instrument.'  John- 
son. 'Sir,  I  might  as  well  have  played  on  the  violoncello 
as  another;  but  I  should  have  done  nothing  else.  No,  Sir; 
a  man  would  never  undertake  great  things,  could  he  be 
amused  with  small.  I  once  tried  knotting.  Dempster's 
sister  undertook  to  teach  me;  but  I  could  not  learn  it.' 
Boswell.  'So,  Sir;  it  will  be  related  in  pompous  narrative, 
"Once  for  his  amusement  he  tried  knotting;  nor  did  this 
Hercules  disdain  the  distaff.'"  Johnson.  'Knitting  of 
stockings  is  a  good  amusement.  As  a  freeman  of  Aberdeen 
I  should  be  a  knitter  of  stockings.'  He  asked  me  to  go  down 
with  him  and  dine  at  Mr.  Thrale's  at  Streatham,  to  which  I 
agreed.  I  had  lent  him  An  Account  of  Scotland,  in  1702, 
written  by  a  man  of  various  enquiry,  an  English  chaplain  to 
a  regiment  stationed  there.  Johnson.  'It  is  sad  stuff.  Sir, 
miserably  written,  as  books  in  general  then  were.  There  is 
now  an  elegance  of  style  universally  diffused.  No  man  now 
writes  so  ill  as  Martin's  Account  of  the  Hebrides  is  written. 
A  man  could  not  write  so  ill,  if  he  should  try.  Set  a  mer- 
chant's clerk  now  to  write,  and  he'll  do  better.' 

He  talked  to  me  with  serious  concern  of  a  certain  female 
friend's  'laxity  of  narration,  and  inattention  to  truth.' — 
'I  am  as  much  vexed  (said  he,)  at  the  ease  with  which  she 
hears  it  mentioned  to  her,  as  at  the  thing  itself.  I  told  her, 
"Madam,  you  are  contented  to  hear  every  day  said  to  you, 
what  the  highest  of  mankind  have  died  for,  rather  than 
bear." — You  know,  Sir,  the  highest  of  mankind  have  died 
rather  than  bear  to  be  told  they  had  uttered  a  falsehood. 
Do  talk  to  her  of  it:  I  am  weary.' 


1778J  ON  DRINKING  WINE  363 

BoswELL.  'Was  not  Dr.  John  Campbell  a  very  inaccu- 
rate man  in  his  narrative,  Sir?  He  once  told  me,  that  he 
drank  thirteen  bottles  of  port  at  a  sitting.'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  I  do  not  know  that  Campbell  ever  lied  with  pen 
and  ink;  but  you  could  not  entirely  depend  on  any  thing 
he  told  you  in  conversation:  if  there  was  fact  mixed  with 
it.  However,  I  loved  Campbell:  he  was  a  solid  orthodox 
man:  he  had  a  reverence  for  religion.  Though  defective 
in  practice,  he  was  religious  in  principle;  and  he  did  noth- 
ing grossly  wrong  that  I  have  heard.' 

Talking  of  drinking  wine,  he  said,  'I  did  not  leave  off 
wine,  because  I  could  not  bear  it;  I  have  drunk  three  bottles 
of  port  without  being  the  worse  for  it.  University  College 
has  witnessed  this.'  Boswell.  'Why,  then,  Sir,  did  you 
leave  it  off?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  because  it  is  so  much 
better  for  a  man  to  be  sure  that  he  is  never  to  be  intoxicated, 
never  to  lose  the  power  over  himself.  I  shall  not  begin  to 
drink  wine  again,  till  I  grow  old,  and  want  it.'  Boswell. 
'I  think.  Sir,  you  once  said  to  me,  that  not  to  drink  wine 
was  a  great  deduction  from  life.'  Johnson.  'It  is  a  dimi- 
nution of  pleasure,  to  be  sure;  but  I  do  not  say  a  diminution 
of  happiness.  There  is  more  happiness  in  being  rational.' 
Boswell.  'But  if  we  could  have  pleasure  always,  should 
not  we  be  happy?  The  greatest  part  of  men  would  com- 
pound for  pleasure.'  Johnson.  'Supposing  we  could  have 
pleasure  always,  an  intellectual  man  would  not  compound 
for  it.  The  greatest  part  of  men  would  compound,  because 
the  greatest  part  of  men  are  gross.' 

I  mentioned  to  him  that  I  had  become  very  weary  in  a 
company  where  I  heard  not  a  single  intellectual  sentence, 
except  that  'a  man  who  had  been  settled  ten  years  in  Mi- 
norca was  become  a  much  inferiour  man  to  what  he  was  in 
London,  because  a  man's  mind  grows  narrow  in  a  narrow 
place.'  Johnson.  'A  man's  mind  grows  narrow  in  a  nar- 
row place,  whose  mind  is  enlarged  only  because  he  has  lived 
in  a  large  place:  but  what  is  got  by  books  and  thinking  is 
preserved  in  a  narrow  place  as  well  as  in  a  large  place.  A 
man  cannot  know  modes  of  life  as  well  in  Minorca  as  in 
London;   but  he  may  study  mathematicks  as  well  in  Mi- 


364  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

norca.'  Boswell.  'I  don't  know,  Sir:  if  you  had  remained 
ten  years  in  the  Isle  of  Col,  you  would  not  have  been  the 
man  that  you  now  are.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  if  I  had  been 
there  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five ;  but  not  if  from  twenty-five 
to  thirty-five.'  Boswell.  'I  own.  Sir,  the  spirits  which  I 
have  in  London  make  me  do  every  thing  with  more  readi- 
ness and  vigour.  I  can  talk  twice  as  much  in  London  as 
any  where  else.' 

Of  Goldsmith  he  said,  'He  was  not  an  agreeable  com- 
panion, for  he  talked  always  for  fame.  A  man  who  does 
so  never  can  be  pleasing.  The  man  who  talks  to  unburthen 
his  mind  is  the  man  to  delight  you.  An  eminent  friend  of 
ours  is  not  so  agreeable  as  the  variety  of  his  knowledge 
would  otherwise  make  him,  because  he  talks  partly  from 
ostentation.' 

Soon  after  our  arrival  at  Thrale's,  I  heard  one  of  the 
maids  calling  eagerly  on  another,  to  go  to  Dr.  Johnson.  I 
wondered  what  this  could  mean.  I  afterwards  learnt,  that 
it  was  to  give  her  a  Bible,  which  he  had  brought  from  Lon- 
don as  a  present  to  her. 

He  was  for  a  considerable  time  occupied  in  reading  Me- 
moires  de  Fontenelle,  leaning  and  swinging  upon  the  low  gate 
into  the  court,  without  his  hat. 

At  dinner,  Mrs.  Thrale  expressed  a  wish  to  go  and  see 
Scotland.  Johnson.  'Seeing  Scotland,  Madam,  is  only 
seeing  a  worse  England.  It  is  seeing  the  flower  gradually 
fade  away  to  the  naked  stalk.  Seeing  the  Hebrides,  indeed, 
is  seeing  quite  a  different  scene.' 

On  Thursday,  April  9,  I  dined  with  him  at  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds's,  with  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph,  (Dr.  Shipley,) 
Mr.  Allan  Ramsay,  Mr.  Gibbon,  Mr.  Cambridge,  and  Mr. 
Langton. 

Goldsmith  being  mentioned,  Johnson  observed,  that  it 
was  long  before  his  merit  came  to  be  acknowledged.  That 
he  once  complained  to  him,  in  ludicrous  terms  of  distress, 
^Whenever  I  write  any  thing,  the  publick  make  a  point  to 
know  nothing  about  it:'  but  that  his  Traveller  brought  him 
into  high  reputation.  Langton.  'There  is  not  one  bad 
tine  in  that  poem;    not  one  of  Dryden's  careless  verses.' 


17781  GOLDSMITH'S   TRAVELLER  365 

Sir  Joshua.  'I  was  glad  to  hear  Charles  Fox  say,  it  was 
one  of  the  finest  poems  in  the  English  language.'  Langton. 
'Why  was  you  glad?  You  surely  had  no  doubt  of  this 
before.'  Johnson.  'No;  the  merit  of  The  Traveller  is  so 
well  established,  that  Mr.  Fox's  praise  cannot  augment  it, 
nor  his  censure  diminish  it.'  Sir  Joshua.  'But  his  friends 
may  suspect  they  had  too  great  a  partiality  for  him.'  John- 
son. 'Nay,  Sir,  the  partiality  of  his  friends  was  always 
against  him.  It  was  with  difficulty  we  could  give  him  a 
hearing.  Goldsmith  had  no  settled  notions  upon  any  sub- 
ject; so  he  talked  always  at  random.  It  seemed  to  be  his 
intention  to  blurt  out  whatever  was  in  his  mind,  and  see 
what  would  become  of  it.  He  was  angry  too,  when  catched 
in  an  absurdity;  but  it  did  not  prevent  him  from  falling 
into  another  the  next  minute.  I  remember  Chamier,  after 
talking  with  him  for  some  time,  _  said,  "Well,  I  do  believe 
he  wrote  this  poem  himself:  and,  let  me  tell  you,  that  is 
believing  a  great  deal."  Chamier  once  asked  him,  what 
he  meant  by  slow,  the  last  word  in  the  first  line  of  The  Trav- 
eller, 

"Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow." 

Did  he  mean  tardiness  of  locomotion?  Goldsmith,  who 
would  say  something  without  consideration,  answered,  "Yes." 
I  was  sitting  by,  and  said,  "No,  Sir;  you  do  not  mean  tardi- 
ness of  locomotion;  you  mean,  that  sluggishness  of  mind 
which  comes  upon  a  man  in  solitude."  Chamier  believed  then 
that  I  had  written  the  line  as  much  as  if  he  had  seen  me 
write  it.  Goldsmith,  however,  was  a  man,  who,  whatever 
he  wrote,  did  it  better  than  any  other  man  could  do.  He 
deserved  a  place  in  Westminster- Abbey,  and  every  year  he 
lived,  would  have  deserved  it  better.  He  had,  indeed,  been 
at  no  pains  to  fill  his  mind  with  knowledge.  He  transplanted 
it  from  one  place  to  another;  and  it  did  not  settle  in  his  mind; 
so  he  could  not  tell  what  was  in  his  own  books.' 

W^e  talked  of  living  in  the  country.  Johnson.  'No  wise 
man  will  go  to  live  in  the  country,  unless  he  has  something 
to  do  which  can  be  better  done  in  the  country.  For  in- 
stance:  if  he  is  to  shut  himself  up  for  a  year  to  study  a 


LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON"  [i778 

science,  it  is  better  to  look  out  to  the  fields,  than  to  an  op- 
posite wall.  Then,  if  a  man  walks  out  in  the  country,  there 
is  nobody  to  keep  him  from  walking  in  again:  but  if  a  man 
walks  out  in  London,  he  is  not  sure  when  he  shall  walk  in 
again.  A  great  city  is,  to  be  sure,  the  school  for  studying 
life;  and  "The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man,"  as  Pope 
observes.'  Boswell.  '  I  fancy  London  is  the  best  place  for 
society;  though  I  have  heard  that  the  very  first  society  of 
Paris  is  still  beyond  any  thing  that  we  have  here.'  Johnson. 
*  Sir,  I  question  if  in  Paris  such  a  company  as  is  sitting  round 
this  table  could  be  got  together  in  less  than  half  a  year. 
They  talk  in  France  of  the  felicity  of  men  and  women  living 
together:  the  truth  is,  that  there  the  men  are  not  higher 
than  the  women,  they  know  no  more  than  the  women  do, 
and  they  are  not  held  down  in  their  conversation  by  the 
presence  of  women.' 

We  talked  of  old  age.  Johnson  (now  in  his  seventieth 
year,)  said,  *  It  is  a  man's  own  fault,  it  is  from  want  of  use, 
if  his  mind  grows  torpid  in  old  age.'  The  Bishop  asked, 
if  an  old  man  does  not  lose  faster  than  he  gets.  Johnson. 
*I  think  not,  my  Lord,  if  he  exerts  himself.'  One  of  the 
company  rashly  observed,  that  he  thought  it  was  happy  for 
an  old  man  that  insensibility  comes  upon  him.  Johnson, 
(with  a  noble  elevation  and  disdain,)  'No,  Sir,  I  should 
never  be  happy  by  being  less  rational.'  Bishop  of  St, 
Asaph.  'Your  wish  then,  Sir,  is  yrjpdaKeiv  hiZaaKotievo'iJ 
Johnson.     'Yes,  my  Lord.' 

This  season  there  was  a  whimsical  fashion  in  the  news- 
papers of  applying  Shakspeare's  words  to  describe  living 
persons  well  known  in  the  world;  which  was  done  under 
the  title  of  Modern  Characters  from  Shakspeare;  many  of 
which  were  admirably  adapted.  The  fancy  took  so  much, 
that  they  were  afterwards  collected  into  a  pamphlet.  Some- 
body said  to  Johnson,  across  the  table,  that  he  had  not  been 
in  those  characters.  'Yes  (said  he,)  I  have.  I  should  have 
been  sorry  to  be  left  out,'  He  then  repeated  what  had  been 
applied  to  him, 

'  I  must  borrow  Garaqantua's  mouth,* 


17781  GARGANTUA  367 

Miss  Reynolds  not  perceiving  at  once  the  meaning  of  this, 
he  was  obliged  to  explain  it  to  her,  which  had  something  of 
an  aukward  and  ludicrous  effect.  'Why,  Madam,  it  has  a 
reference  to  me,  as  using  big  words,  which  require  the  mouth 
of  a  giant  to  pronounce  them.  Garagantua  is  the  name  of 
a  giant  in  Rabelais.'  Boswell.  'But,  Sir,  there  is  another 
amongst  them  for  you: 

"He  would  not  flatter  Neptune  for  hia  trident, 
Or  Jove  for  his  power  to  thunder.'" 

Johnson.  'There  is  nothing  marked  in  that.  No,  Sir, 
Garagantua  is  the  best.'  Notwithstanding  this  ease  and 
good  humour,  when  I,  a  little  while  afterwards,  repeated  his 
sarcasm  on  Kenrick,  which  was  received  with  applause,  he 
asked,  'Who  said  that?'  and  on  my  suddenly  answering, 
Garagantiia,  he  looked  serious,  which  was  a  sufficient  indica- 
tion that  he  did  not  wish  it  to  be  kept  up. 

When  we  went  to  the  drawing-room  there  was  a  rich  as- 
semblage. Besides  the  company  who  had  been  at  dinner, 
there  were  Mr.  Garrick,  Mr.  Harris  of  Salisbury,  Dr.  Percy, 
Dr.  Burney,  Honourable  Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  Miss  Hannah 
More,  &c.  &c. 

After  wandering  about  in  a  kind  of  pleasing  distraction 
for  some  time,  I  got  into  a  corner,  with  Johnson,  Garrick, 
and  Harris.  Garrick.  (to  Harris,)  'Pray,  Sir,  have  you 
read  Potter's  Mschyhisf  Harris.  'Yes;  and  think  it 
pretty.'  Garrick.  (to  Johnson,)  'And  what  think  you,  Sir, 
of  it?'  Johnson.  'I  thought  what  I  read  of  it  verbiage: 
but  upon  Mr.  Harris's  recommendation,  I  will  read  a  play. 
(To  Mr.  Harris,)  Don't  prescribe  two.'  Mr.  Harris  suggested 
one,  I  do  not  remember  which.  Johnson.  'We  must  try 
its  effect  as  an  English  poem;  that  is  the  way  to  judge  of  the 
merit  of  a  translation.  Translations  are,  in  general,  for  peo- 
ple who  cannot  read  the  original.'  I  mentioned  the  vulgar 
saying,  that  Pope's  Homer  was  not  a  good  representation 
of  the  original.  Johnson.  'Sir,  it  is  the  greatest  work  of 
the  kind  that  has  ever  been  pi-oduced.'  Boswell.  'The 
truth  is,  it  is  impossible  perfectly  to  translate  poetry.     In 


368  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

a  different  language  it  may  be  the  same  tune,  but  it  has  not 
the  same  tone.  Homer  plays  it  on  a  bassoon;  Pope  on  a 
flagelet.'  Harris.  '  I  think  Heroick  poetry  is  best  in  blank 
verse;  yet  it  appears  that  rhyme  is  essential  to  English 
poetry,  from  our  deficiency  in  metrical  quantities.  In  my 
opinion,  the  chief  excellence  of  our  language  is  numerous 
prose.'  Johnson.  ' Sir  William  Temple  was  the  first  writer 
who  gave  cadence  to  English  prose.  Before  his  time  they 
were  careless  of  arrangement,  and  did  not  mind  whether  a 
sentence  ended  with  an  important  word  or  an  insignificant 
word,  or  with  what  part  of  speech  it  was  concluded.' 

Garrick.  'Of  all  the  translations  that  ever  were  at- 
tempted, I  think  Elphinston's  Martial  the  most  extraor- 
dinary. He  consulted  me  upon  it,  who  am  a  little  of  an  epi- 
grammatist myself,  you  know.  I  told  him  freely,  "You 
don't  seem  to  have  that  turn."  I  asked  him  if  he  was  seri- 
ous; and  finding  he  was,  I  advised  him  against  publishing. 
Why,  his  translation  is  more  difficult  to  understand  than  the 
original.  I  thought  him  a  man  of  some  talents;  but  he  seems 
crazy  in  this.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  you  have  done  what  I  had 
not  courage  to  do.  But  he  did  not  ask  my  advice,  and  1 
did  not  force  it  upon  him,  to  make  him  ahgry  with  me.' 
Garrick.  ' But  as  a  friend.  Sir — .'  Johnson.  'Why,  such 
a  friend  as  I  am  with  him — no.'  Garrick.  'But  if  you 
see  a  friend  going  to  tumble  over  a  precipice?'  Johnson. 
'That  is  an  extravagant  case.  Sir.  You  are  sure  a  friend 
will  thank  you  for  hindering  him  from  tumbling  over  a  preci- 
pice; but,  in  the  other  case,  I  should  hurt  his  vanity,  and  do 
him  no  good.  He  would  not  take  my  advice.  His  brother- 
in-law,  Strahan,  sent  him  a  subscription  of  fifty  pounds,  and 
said  he  would  send  him  fifty  more,  if  he  would  not  publish.' 
Garrick.  'What!  eh!  is  Strahan  a  good  judge  of  an  Epi- 
gram? Is  not  he  rather  an  obtuse  man,  eh?'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  he  may  not  be  a  judge  of  an  Epigram:  but  you 
see  he  is  a  judge  of  what  is  not  an  Epigram.'  Boswell. 
'It  is  easy  for  you,  Mr.  Garrick,  to  talk  to  an  authour  as 
you  talked  to  Elphinston;  you,  who  have  been  so  long  the 
manager  of  a  theatre,  rejecting  the  plays  of  poor  authours. 
You  are  an  old  Judge,  who  have  often  pronounced  sentence 


17781  HAWKINS'S  SIEGE  OF  ALEPPO  369 

of  death.  You  are  a  practiced  surgeon,  who  have  often  am- 
putated limbs;  and  though  this  may  have  been  for  the  good 
of  your  patients,  they  cannot  like  you.  Those  who  have 
undergone  a  dreadful  operation,  are  not  very  fond  of  seeing 
the  operator  again.'  Garrick.  'Yes,  I  know  enough  of 
that.  There  was  a  reverend  gentleman,  (Mr.  Hawkins,) 
who  wrote  a  tragedy,  the  siege  of  something,  which  I  refused.' 
Harris.  'So,  the  siege  was  raised.'  Johnson.  'Ay,  he 
came  to  me  and  complained;  and  told  me,  that  Garrick  said 
his  play  was  wrong  in  the  concoction.  Now,  what  is  the  con- 
coction of  a  play  ? '  (Here  Garrick  started,  and  twisted  him- 
self, and  seemed  sorely  vexed;  for  Johnson  told  me,  he  be- 
lieved the  story  was  true.)  Garrick.  'I — I — I — s,&\d  first 
concoction.'  Johnson,  (smiling,)  'Well,  he  left  out  first. 
And  Rich,  he  said,  refused  him  in  false  English:  he  could 
shew  it  under  his  hand.'  Garrick.  'He  wrote  to  me  in 
violent  wrath,  for  having  refused  his  play:  "Sir,  this  is  grow- 
ing a  very  serious  and  terrible  affair.  I  am  resolved  to 
publish  my  play.  I  will  appeal  to  the  world;  and  how  will 
your  judgement  appear?"  I  answered,  "Sir,  notwithstand- 
ing all  the  seriousness,  and  all  the  terrours,  I  have  no  objec- 
tion to  your  publishing  your  play;  and  as  you  live  at  a  great 
distance,  (Devonshire,  I  believe,)  if  you  will  send  it  to  me, 
I  will  convey  it  to  the  press."  I  never  heard  more  of  it, 
ha!  ha!  ha!' 

On  Friday,  April  10,  I  found  Johnson  at  home  in  the 
morning.  We  resumed  the  conversation  of  yesterday.  He 
put  me  in  mind  of  some  of  it  which  had  escaped  my  memory, 
and  enabled  me  to  record  it  more  perfectly  than  I  otherwise 
could  have  done.  He  was  much  pleased  with  my  paying 
so  great  attention  to  his  recommendation  in  1763,  the  period 
when  our  acquaintance  began,  that  I  should  keep  a  journal; 
and  I  could  perceive  he  was  secretly  pleased  to  find  so  much 
of  the  fruit  of  his  mind  preserved;  and  as  he  had  been  used 
to  imagine  and  say  that  he  always  laboured  when  he  said  a 
good  thing — it  delighted  him,  on  a  review,  to  find  that  his 
conversation  teemed  with  point  and  imagery. 

I  said  to  him,  'You  were  yesterday,  Sir,  in  remarkably 
good  humour:  but  there  was  nothing  to  offend  you,  nothing 


a70  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

to  produce  irritation  or  violence.  There  was  no  bold  offender. 
There  was  not  one  capital  conviction.  It  was  a  maiden 
assize*    You  had  on  your  white  gloves.' 

He  found  fault  with  our  friend  Langton  for  having  been 
too  silent.  'Sir,  (said  I,)  you  will  recollect,  that  he  very 
properly  took  up  Sir  Joshua  for  being  glad  that  Charles  Fo?c 
had  praised  Goldsmith's  Traveller,  and  you  joined  him^' 
Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  I  knocked  Fox  on  the  head,  without 
ceremony.  Reynolds  is  too  much  under  Fox  and  Burke  at 
present.  He  is  under  the  Fox  star  and  the  Irish  constellation. 
He  is  always  under  some  planet.'  Boswell.  'There  is  no 
Fox  star.'  Johnson.  'But  there  is  a  dog  star.'  Boswell. 
'They  say,  indeed,  a  fox  and  a  dog  are  the  same  animal.' 

We  dined  together  with  Mr.  Scott  (now  Sir  William  Scott, 
his  Majesty's  Advocate  General,)  at  his  chambers  in  the 
Temple,  nobody  else  there.  The  company  being  small, 
Johnson  was  not  in  such  spirits  as  he  had  been  the  preceding 
day,  and  for  a  considerable  time  little  was  said. 

Talking  of  fame,  for  which  there  is  so  great  a  desire,  I 
observed  how  little  there  is  of  it  in  reality,  compared  with 
the  other  objects  of  human  attention.  'Let  every  man  recol- 
lect, and  he  will  be  sensible  how  small  a  part  of  his  time  is 
employed  in  talking  or  thinking  of  Shakspeare,  Voltaire,  or 
any  of  the  most  celebrated  men  that  have  ever  lived,  or  are 
now  supposed  to  occupy  the  attention  and  admiration  of  the 
world.  Let  this  be  extracted  and  compressed;  into  what  a 
narrow  space  will  it  go!'  I  then  slily  introduced  Mr.  Gar- 
rick's  fame,  and  his  assuming  the  airs  of  a  great  man.  John- 
son. 'Sir,  it  is  wonderful  how  little  Garrick  assumes.  No, 
Sir,  Garrick  fortunam  reverenter  habet.  Consider,  Sir:  cele- 
brated men,  such  as  you  have  mentioned,  have  had  their 
applause  at  a  distance;  but  Garrick  had  it  dashed  in  his 
face,  sounded  in  his  ears,  and  went  home  every  night  with 
the  plaudits  of  a  thousand  in  his  cranium.  Then,  Sir,  Gar- 
rick did  not  find,  but  made  his  way  to  the  tables,  the  levees, 
and  almost  the  bed-chambers  of  the  great.  Then,  Sir,  Gar- 
rick had  under  him  a  numerous  body  of  people;  who,  from 
fear  of  his  power,  and  hopes  of  his  favour,  and  admiration 
of  his  talents,  were  constantly  submissive  to  him.    And  here 


17781  GARRICK  371 

is  a  man  who  has  advanced  the  dignity  of  his  profession. 
Ganrick  has  made  a  player  a  higher  character.'  Scxyrr. 
'And  he  is  a  very  sprightly  writer  too.'  Johnson.  'Yes, 
Sir;  and  all  this  supported  by  great  wealth  of  his  own  ac- 
quisition. If  all  this  had  happened  to  me,  I  should  have  had 
a  couple  of  fellows  with  long  poles  walking  before  me,  to 
knock  down  every  body  that  stood  in  the  way.  Consider, 
if  all  this  had  happened  to  Gibber  or  Quin,  they'd  have 
jumped  over  the  moon. — Yet  Garrick  speaks  to  us.'  (smil- 
ing.) BoswELL,  'And  Garrick  is  a  very  good  man,  a  chari- 
table man.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  a  liberal  man.  He  has  given 
away  more  money  than  any  man  in  England.  There  may 
be  a  little  vanity  mixed;  but  he  has  shewn,  that  money  is 
not  his  first  object.'  Boswell.  'Yet  Foote  used  to  say  of 
him,  that  he  walked  out  with  an  intention  to  do  a  generous 
action;  but,  turning  the  comer  of  a  street,  he  met  with  the 
ghost  of  a  half-penny,  which  frightened  him.'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  that  is  very  true,  too;  for  I  never  knew  a  man  of 
whom  it  could  be  said  with  less  certainty  to-day,  what  he 
will  do  to-morrow,  than  Garrick;  it  depends  so  much  on  his 
humour  at  the  time.'  Scott.  'I  am  glad  to  hear  of  his 
liberality.  He  has  been  represented  as  very  saving.'  John- 
son. 'With  his  domestick  saving  we  have  nothing  to  do. 
I  remember  drinking  tea  with  him  long  ago,  when  Peg  Wof- 
fington  made  it,  and  he  grumbled  at  her  for  making  it  too 
strong.  1  He  had  then  begun  to  feel  money  in  his  purse, 
and  did  not  know  when  he  should  have  enough  of  it.' 

We  talked  of  war.  Johnson.  '  Every  man  thinks  meanly 
of  himself  for  not  having  been  a  soldier,  or  not  having  been 
at  sea.'  Boswell.  'Lord  Mansfield  does  not.'  Johnson. 
'  Sir,  if  Lord  Mansfield  were  in  a  company  of  General  Officers 
and  Admirals  who  have  been  in  service,  he  would  shrink; 
he'd  wish  to  creep  under  the  table.'  Boswell.  'No;  he'd 
think  he  could  try  them  all.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  if  he  could 
catch  them:  but  they'd  try  him  much  sooner.  No,  Sir; 
were  Socrates  and  Charles  the  Twelfth  of  Sweden  both 

>  When  Johnson  told  this  little  anecdote  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  lie 
mentioned  a  circumstance  which  he  omitted  to-day: — 'Why,  (said 
Garrick.)  it  is  as  red  as  blood.' — Boswell. 


i372  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

present  in  any  company,  and  Socrates  to  say,  "Follow  me, 
and  hear  a  lecture  on  philosophy;"  and  Charles,  laying  his 
hand  on  his  sword,  to  say,  "Follow  me,  and  dethrone  the 
Czar;"  a  man  would  be  ashamed  to  follow  Socrates.  Sir, 
the  impression  is  universal;  yet  it  is  strange.' 

He  talked  of  Mr.  Charles  Fox,  of  whose  abilities  he  thought 
highly,  but  observed,  that  he  did  not  talk  much  at  our  Club. 
I  have  heard  Mr.  Gibbon  remark,  '  that  Mr.  Fox  could  not  be 
afraid  of  Dr.  Johnson;  yet  he  certainly  was  very  shy  of  say- 
ing any  thing  in  Dr.  Johnson's  presence.' 

He  expressed  great  indignation  at  the  imposture  of  the 
Cock-lane  Ghost,  and  related,  with  much  satisfaction,  how 
he  had  assisted  in  detecting  the  cheat,  and  had  published  an 
account  of  it  in  the  news-papers.  Upon  this  subject  I  in- 
cautiously offended  him,  by  pressing  him  with  too  many 
questions,  and  he  shewed  his  displeasure.  I  apologised, 
saying  that  '  I  asked  questions  in  order  to  be  instructed  and 
entertained;  I  repaired  eagerly  to  the  fountain;  but  that 
the  moment  he  gave  me  a  hint,  the  moment  he  put  a  lock 
upon  the  well,  I  desisted.' — 'But,  Sir,  (said  he),  that  is 
forcing  one  to  do  a  disagreeable  thing : '  and  he  continued  to 
rate  me.  '  Nay,  Sir,  (said  I,)  when  you  have  put  a  lock  upon 
the  well,  so  that  I  can  no  longer  drink,  do  not  make  the 
fountain  of  your  wit  play  upon  me  and  wet  me.' 

He  sometimes  could  not  bear  being  teazed  with  questions. 
I  was  once  present  when  a  gentleman  asked  so  many  as, 
'What  did  you  do.  Sir?'  'What  did  you  say,  Sir?'  that  he 
at  last  grew  enraged,  and  said,  'I  will  not  be  put  to  the 
question.  Don't  you  consider,  Sir,  that  these  are  not  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman?  I  will  not  be  baited  with  what, 
and  why;  what  is  this?  what  is  that?  why  is  a  cow's  tail 
long?  why  is  a  fox's  tail  bushy?'  The  gentleman,  who  was 
a  good  deal  out  of  countenance,  said,  'Why,  Sir,  you  are  so 
good,  that  I  venture  to  trouble  you.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  my 
being  so  good  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be  so  ill.' 

He  talked  with  an  uncommon  animation  of  travelling  into 
distant  countries;  that  the  mind  was  enlarged  by  it,  and  that 
an  acquisition  of  dignity  of  character  was  derived  from  it. 
He  expressed  a  particular  enthusiasm  with  respect  to  visit- 


1778]         ALTERCATION  WITH  DR.  PERCY  373 

ing  the  wall  of  China.  I  catched  it  for  the  moment,  and 
said  I  really  believed  I  should  go  and  see  the  wall  of  China 
had  I  not  children,  of  whom  it  was  my  duty  to  take  care. 
'Sir,  (said  he,)  by  doing  so,  you  would  do  what  would  be  of 
importance  in  raising  your  children  to  eminence.  There 
would  be  a  lustre  reflected  upon  them  from  your  spirit  and 
curiosity.  They  would  be  at  all  times  regarded  as  the  chil- 
dren of  a  man  who  had  gone  to  view  the  wall  of  China.  I 
am  serious,  Sir.' 

When  we  had  left  Mr.  Scott's,  he  said  'Will  you  go  home 
with  me?'  'Sir,  (said  I,)  it  is  late;  but  I'll  go  with  you  for 
three  minutes.'  Johnson.  'Or  four.'  We  went  to  Mrs. 
Williams's  room,  where  we  found  Mr.  Allen  the  printer,  who 
was  the  landlord  of  his  house  in  Bolt-court,  a  worthy,  obliging 
man,  and  his  very  old  acquaintance;  and  what  was  exceed- 
ingly amusing,  though  he  was  of  a  very  diminutive  size,  he 
used,  even  in  Johnson's  presence,  to  imitate  the  stately 
periods  and  slow  and  solemn  utterance  of  the  great  man. — 
I  this  evening  boasted,  that  although  I  did  not  write  what  is 
called  stenography,  or  short-hand,  in  appropriated  charac- 
ters devised  for  the  purpose,  I  had  a  method  of  my  own  of 
writing  half  words,  and  leaving  out  some  altogether  so  as  yet 
to  keep  the  substance  and  language  of  any  discourse  which 
I  had  heard  so  much  in  view,  that  I  could  give  it  very  com- 
pletely soon  after  I  had  taken  it  down. 

On  Sunday,  April  12,  I  found  him  at  home  before  dinner. 
He  and  I,  and  Mrs.  Williams,  went  to  dine  with  the  Rev- 
erend Dr.  Percy. 

And  here  I  shall  record  a  scene  of  too  much  heat  between 
Dr.  Johnson  and  Dr.  Percy,  which  I  should  have  suppressed, 
were  it  not  that  it  gave  occasion  to  display  the  truely  tender 
and  benevolent  heart  of  Johnson,  who,  as  soon  as  he  found 
a  friend  was  at  all  hurt  by  any  thing  which  he  had  'said  in 
his  wrath,'  was  not  only  prompt  and  desirous  to  be  recon- 
ciled, but  exerted  himself  to  make  ample  reparation. 

Books  of  Travels  having  been  mentioned,  Johnson  praised 
Pennant  very  highly,  as  he  did  at  Dunvegan,  in  the  Isle  of 
Sky.  Dr.  Percy,  knowing  himself  to  be  the  heir  male  of 
the  ancient  Percies,  and  having  the  wannest  and  most  duti- 


374  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

ful  attachment  to  the  noble  House  of  Northumberland, 
could  not  sit  quietly  and  hear  a  man  praised,  who  had  spoken 
disrespectfully  of  Alnwick-Castle  and  the  Duke's  pleasure 
grounds,  especially  as  he  thought  meanly  of  his  travels.  He 
therefore  opposed  Johnson  eagerly.  Johnson.  'Pennant 
in  what  he  has  said  of  Alnwick,  has  done  what  he  intended; 
he  has  made  you  very  angry.'  Percy.  'He  has  said  the 
garden  is  trim,  which  is  representing  it  like  a  citizen's  par- 
terre, when  the  truth  is,  there  is  a  very  large  extent  of  fine 
turf  and  gravel  walks.'  Johnson.  'According  to  your  own 
account,  Sir,  Pennant  is  right.  It  is  trim.  Here  is  grass 
cut  close,  and  gravel  rolled  smooth.  Is  not  that  trim?  The 
extent  is  nothing  against  that;  a  mile  may  be  as  trim  as 
a  square  yard.  Your  extent  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  citizen's 
enlarged  dinner,  two  pieces  of  roast-beef,  and  two  puddings. 
There  is  no  variety,  no  mind  exerted  in  laying  out  the  ground, 
no  trees.'  Percy.  'He  pretends  to  give  the  natural  history 
of  Northumberland,  and  yet  takes  no  notice  of  the  immense 
number  of  trees  planted  there  of  late.'  Johnson.  'That, 
Sir,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  natural  history;  that  is  civil 
history.  A  man  who  gives  the  natural  history  of  the  oak,  is 
not  to  tell  how  many  oaks  have  been  planted  in  this  place  or 
that.  A  man  who  gives  the  natural  history  of  the  cow,  is 
not  to  tell  how  many  cows  are  milked  at  Islington.  The 
animal  is  the  same,  whether  milked  in  the  Park  or  at  Isling- 
ton.^ Percy.  'Pennant  does  not  describe  well;  a  carrier 
who  goes  along  the  side  of  Loch-lomond  would  describe  it 
■better.'  Johnson.  'I  think  he  describes  very  well.'  Percy. 
fl  travelled  after  him.'  Johnson.  'And  /  travelled  after 
him.'  Percy.  ' But,  my  good  friend,  you  are  short-sighted, 
and  do  not  see  so  well  as  I  do.'  I  wondered  at  Dr.  Percy's 
venturing  thus.  Dr.  Johnson  said  nothing  at  the  time ;  but 
mflammabje  particles  were  collecting  for  a  cloud  to  burst. 
in  a  little  while  Dr.  Percy  said  something  more  in  disparage- 
ment of  Pennant.  Johnson,  (pointedly,)  'This  is  the  re- 
sentment of  a  narrow  mind,  because  he  did  not  find  every 
thing  in  Northumberland.'  Percy,  (feeling  the  stroke,) 
'Sir,  you  may  be  as  rude  as  you  please.'  Johnson.  'Hold, 
Sir!     Don't  talk  of  rudeness;    remember,  Sir,  you  told  me 


1778]  RECONCILIATION  375 

(puffing  hard  with  passion  struggling  for  a  vent,)  I  was  short- 
sighted. We  have  done  with  civility.  We  are  to  be  as  rude 
as  we  please.'  Perct.  'Upon  my  honour,  Sir,  I  did  not 
mean  to  be  uncivil.'  Johnson.  'I  cannot  say  so,  Sir;  for 
I  did  mean  to  be  uncivil,  thinking  you  had  been  uncivil.'  Dr. 
Percy  rose,  ran  up  to  him,  and  taking  him  by  the  hand,  as- 
sured him  affectionately  that  hLs  meaning  had  been  misun- 
derstood; upon  which  a  reconciliation  instantly  took  place. 
Johnson.  'My  dear  Sir,  I  am  willing  you  shall  hang  Pen- 
nant.' Percy,  (resuming  the  former  subject,)  'Pennant 
complains  that  the  helmet  is  not  hung  out  to  invite  to  the 
hall  of  hospitality.  Now  I  never  heard  that  it  was  a  custom 
to  hang  out  a  ^^mef.'  Johnson.  '  Hang  him  up,  hang  him 
up.'  BoswELL.  (humouring  the  joke,)  'Hang  out  his  skull 
instead  of  a  helmet,  and  you  may  drink  ale  out  of  it  in  your 
hall  of  Odin,  as  he  is  your  enemy;  that  will  be  truly  ancient. 
There  will  be  Northern  Antiquities.'  Johnson.  'He's  a 
Whig,  Sir;  a  sad  dog.  (smiling  at  his  own  violent  expressions, 
merely  for  political  difference  of  opinion.)  But  he's  the  best 
traveller  I  ever  read;  he  observes  more  things  than  any  one 
else  does.' 

On  Monday,  April  13,  I  dined  with  Johnson  at  Mr.  Lang- 
ton's,  where  were  Dr.  Porteus,  then  Bishop  of  Chester,  now 
of  London,  and  Dr.  Stinton.  He  was  at  first  in  a  very  silent 
mood.  Before  dinner  he  said  nothing  but  'Pretty  baby,'  to 
one  of  the  children.  Langton  said  very  well  to  me  after- 
wards, that  he  could  repeat  Johnson's  conversation  before 
dinner,  as  Johnson  had  said  that  he  could  rej^eat  a  complete 
chapter  of  The  Natural  History  of  Iceland,  from  the  Danish 
of  Horrebow,  the  whole  of  which  was  exactly  thus: — 

'  Chap.  LXXII.     Concerning  snakes. 

'There  are  no  snakes  to  be  met  with  throughout  the  whole 
island.' 

Mr.  Topham  Beauclerk  came  in  the  evening,  and  he  and 
Dr.  Johnson  and  I  staid  to  supper.  It  was  mentioned  that 
Dr.  Dodd  had  once  wished  to  be  a  member  of  The  Literary 
Club.  Johnson.  'I  should  be  sorry  if  any  of  our  Club 
were  hanged.     I  will  not  say  but  some  of  them  deserve  it.' 


376  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

Beauclerk.  (supposing  this  to  be  aimed  at  persons  for  whom 
he  had  at  that  time  a  wonderful  fancy,  which,  however,  did 
not  last  long,)  was  irritated,  and  eagerly  said,  'You,  Sir, 
have  a  friend,  (naming  him)  who  deserves  to  be  hanged; 
for  he  speaks  behind  their  backs  against  those  with  whom 
he  lives  on  the  best  terms,  and  attacks  them  in  the  news- 
papers. He  certainly  ought  to  be  kicked.'  Johnson.  'Sir, 
we  all  do  this  in  some  degree,  "  Veniam  petimus  damusque 
vicissim."  To  be  sure  it  may  be  done  so  much,  that  a  man 
may  deserve  to  be  kicked.'  Beauclerk.  '  He  is  very  malig- 
nant.' Johnson.  'No,  Sir;  he  is  not  malignant.  He  is 
mischievous,  if  you  will.  He  would  do  no  man  an  essential 
injury;  he  may,  indeed,  love  to  make  sport  of  people  by 
vexing  their  vanity.  I,  however,  once  knew  an  old  gentle- 
man who  was  absolutely  malignant.  He  really  wished  evil 
to  others,  and  rejoiced  at  it.'  Boswell.  'The  gentleman, 
Mr.  Beauclerk,  against  whom  you  are  so  violent,  is,  I  know, 
a  man  of  good  principles.'  Beauclerk.  'Then  he  does 
not  wear  them  out  in  practice.' 

Dr.  Johnson,  who,  as  I  have  observed  before,  delighted 
in  discrimination  of  character,  and  having  a  masterly  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature,  was  willing  to  take  men  as  they  are, 
imperfect  and  with-  a  mixture  of  good  and  bad  qualities, 
I  suppose  thought  he  had  said  enough  in  defence  of  his  friend, 
of  whose  merits,  notwithstanding  his  exceptional  points,  he 
had  a  just  value;  and  added  no  more  on  the  subject. 

On  Wednesday,  April  15,  I  dined  with  Dr.  Johnson  at  Mr. 
Dilly's,  and  was  in  high  spirits,  for  I  had  been  a  good  part  of 
the  morning  with  Mr.  Orme,  the  able  and  eloquent  historian 
of  Hindostan,  who  expressed  a  great  admiration  of  Johnson. 
'I  do  not  care  (said  he,)  on  what  subject  Johnson  talks;  but 
I  love  better  to  hear  him  talk  than  any  body.  He  either  gives 
you  new  thoughts,  or  a  new  colouring.  It  is  a  shame  to  the 
nation  that  he  has  not  been  more  liberally  rewarded.  Had 
I  been  George  the  Third,  and  thought  as  he  did  about 
America,  I  would  have  given  Johnson  three  hundred  a  year 
for  his  Taxation  no  Tyranny  alone.'  I  repeated  this,  and 
Johnson  was  much  pleased  with  such  praise  from  such  a  man 
as  Orme. 


17781  COOKERY  377 

At  Mr.  Dilly's  to-day  were  Mrs.  Knowles,  the  ingenious 
Quaker  lady,  Miss  Seward,  the  poetess  of  Lichfield,  the 
Reverend  Dr.  Mayo,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Beresford,  Tutor  to 
the  Duke  of  Bedford.  Before  dinner  Dr.  Johnson  seized 
upon  Mr.  Charles  Sheridan's  Account  of  the  late  Revolution  in 
Sweden,  and  seemed  to  read  it  ravenously,  as  if  he  devoured 
it,  which  was  to  all  appearance  his  method  of  studying. 
'He  knows  how  to  read  better  than  any  one  (said  Mrs. 
Knowles;)  he  gets  at  the  substance  of  a  book  directly;  he 
tears  out  the  heart  of  it.'  He  kept  it  wrapt  up  in  the  table- 
cloth in  his  lap  during  the  time  of  dinner,  from  an  avidity  to 
have  one  entertainment  in  readiness  when  he  should  have 
finished  another;  resembling  (if  I  may  use  so  coarse  a  simile) 
a  dog  who  holds  a  bone  in  his  paws  in  reserve,  while  he  eats 
something  else  which  has  been  thrown  to  him. 

The  subject  of  cookery  having  been  very  naturally  intro- 
duced at  a  table  where  Johnson,  who  boasted  of  the  niceness 
of  his  palate,  owned  that  'he  always  found  a  good  dinner,'  he 
said,  'I  could  write  a  better  book  of  cookery  than  has  ever 
yet  been  written;  it  should  be  a  book  upon  philosophical 
principles.  Pharmacy  is  now  made  much  more  simple. 
Cookery  may  be  made  so  too.  A  prescription  which  is  now 
compounded  of  five  ingredients,  had  formerly  fifty  in  it. 
So  in  cookery,  if  the  nature  of  the  ingredients  be  well  known, 
much  fewer  will  do.  Then  as  you  cannot  make  bad  meat 
good,  I  would  tell  what  is  the  best  butcher's  meat,  the  best 
beef,  the  best  pieces;  how  to  choose  young  fowls;  the  proper 
seasons  of  different  vegetables;  and  then  how  to  roast  and 
boil,  and  compound.'  Dilly.  'Mrs.  Glasse's  Cookery, 
which  is  the  best,  was  written  by  Dr.  Hill.  Half  the  trade 
know  this.'  Johnson.  'Well,  Sir.  This  shews  how  much 
better  the  subject  of  cookery  may  be  treated  by  a  philosopher. 
I  doubt  if  the  book  be  written  by  Dr.  Hill;  for,  in  Mrs. 
Glasse's  Cookery,  which  I  have  looked  into,  salt-petre  and 
sal-prunella  are  sjxjken  of  as  different  substances  whereas 
sal-prunella  is  only  salt-petre  burnt  on  charcoal;  and  Hill 
could  not  be  ignorant  of  this.  However,  as  the  greatest  part 
of  such  a  book  is  made  by  transcription,  this  mistake  may 
have  been  carelessly  adopted.     But  you  shall  see  what  a 


378  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  ii778 

Book  of  Cookery  I  shall  make !  I  shall  agree  with  Mr. 
Dilly  for  the  copy-right.'  Miss  Seward.  'That  would  be 
Hercules  with  the  distaff  indeed.'  Johnson.  'No,  Madam. 
Women  can  spin  very  well;  but  they  cannot  make  a  good 
book  of  Cookery. ' 

Mrs.  Knowles  affected  to  complain  that  men  had  much 
more  liberty  allowed  them  than  women.  Johnson.  'Why, 
Madam,  women  have  all  the  liberty  they  should  wish  to 
have.  We  have  all  the  labour  and  the  danger,  and  the 
women  all  the  advantage.  We  go  to  sea,  we  build  houses, 
we  do  everything,  in  short,  to  pay  our  court  to  the  women.' 
■Mrs.  Knowles.  'The  Doctor  reasons  very  wittily,  but  not 
convincingly.  Now,  take  the  instance  of  building;  the 
mason's  wife,  if  she  is  ever  seen  in  liquor,  is  ruined;  the 
mason  may  get  himself  drunk  as  often  as  he  pleases,  with 
little  loss  of  character;  nay,  may  let  his  wife  and  children 
starve.'  Johnson.  'Madam,  you  must  consider,  if  the 
mason  does  get  himself  drunk,  and  let  his  wife  and  children 
starve,  the  parish  will  oblige  him  to  find  security  for  their 
maintenance.  We  have  different  modes  of  restraining  evil. 
Stocks  for  the  men,  a  ducking-stool  for  women,  and  a  pound 
for  beasts.  If  we  require  more  perfection  from  women  than 
from  ourselves,  it  is  doing  them  honour.  And  women  have 
not  the  same  temptations  that  we  have:  they  may  always 
live  in  virtuous  company;  men  must  mix  in  the  world  indis- 
criminately. If  a  woman  has  no  inclination  to  do  what  is 
wrong  being  secured  from  it  is  no  restraint  to  her.  I  am  at 
liberty  to  walk  into  the  Thames;  but  if  I  were  to  try  it,  my 
friends  would  restrain  me  in  Bedlam,  and  I  should  be  obliged 
to  them.'  Mrs.  Knowles.  'Still,  Doctor,  I  cannot  help 
thinking  it  a  hardship  that  more  indulgence  is  allowed  to  men 
than  to  women.  It  gives  a  superiority  to  men,  to  which  I 
do  not  see  how  they  are  entitled.'  Johnson.  'It  is  plain, 
Madam,  one  or  other  must  have  the  superiority.  As  Shak- 
speare  says,  "If  two  men  ride  on  a  horse,  one  must  ride  be- 
hind."' Dilly.  'I  suppose,  Sir,  Mrs.  Knowles  would  have 
them  to  ride  in  panniers,  one  on  each  side.'  Johnson. 
'Then,  Sir,  the  horse  would  throw  them  both.'  Mrs. 
Knowles.    'Well,  I  hope  that  in  another  world  the  sexes 


1778J  FRIENDSHIP  379 

will  be  equal.'  Boswell.  'That  is  being  too  ambitious. 
Madam.  We  might  as  well  desire  to  be  equal  with  the 
angels.  We  shall  all,  I  hope,  be  happy  in  a  future  state, 
but  we  must  not  expect  to  be  all  happy  in  the  same  degree. 
It  is  enough  if  we  be  happy  according  to  our  several  capa- 
cities. A  worthy  carman  will  get  to  heaven  as  well  as  Sir 
Isaac  Newton.  Yet,  though  equally  good,  they  will  not 
have  the  same  degrees  of  happiness.'  Johnson.  'Probably 
not.' 

Dr.  Maj'O  having  asked  Johnson's  opinion  of  Soame 
Jenyns's  View  of  the  Internal  Evidence  of  the  Christian.  Re- 
ligion;— ^Johnson.  'I  think  it  a  pretty  book;  not  very 
theological  indeed;  and  there  seems  to  be  an  afifectatioa  of 
ease  and  carelessness,  as  if  it  were  not  suitable  to  his  charac- 
ter to  be  very  serious  about  the  matter.'  Boswell.  'He 
may  have  intended  this  to  introduce  his  book  the  better 
among  genteel  p>eople,  who  might  be  unwilling  to  read  too 
grave  a  treatise.  There  is  a  general  levity  in  the  age.  We 
have  physicians  now  with  bag- wigs;  may  we  not  have  airy 
divines,  at  least  somewhat  less  solemn  in  their  ap[)earanee 
than  they  used  to  be?'  Johnson.  'Jenjms  might  mean  as 
you  say.'  Boswell.  'You  should  like  his  book,  Mrs. 
Knowles,  as  it  maintains,  as  you  friends  do,  that  courage  is 
not  a  Christian  virtue.'  Mrs.  Knowles.  'Yes,  indeed,  I 
like  him  there;  but  I  cannot  agree  with  him,  that  friend- 
ship is  not  a  Christian  virtue.'  Johnson.  'Why,  Madam, 
strictly  speaking,  he  is  right.  All  friendship  is  preferring 
the  interest  of  a  friend,  to  the  neglect,  or,  perhaps,  against 
the  interest  of  others;  so  that  an  old  Greek  said,  "He  that 
has  friends  has  no  friend."  Now  Christianity  recommends 
universal  benevolence,  to  consider  all  men  as  our  brethren, 
which  is  contrary  to  the  virtue  of  friendship,  as  described 
by  the  ancient  philosophers.  Surely,  Madam,  your  sect 
must  approve  of  this;  for,  you  call  all  men  friends.'  Mbs, 
Knowles.  'We  are  commanded  to  do  good  to  all  men, 
"but  especially  to  them  who  are  of  the  household  of  Faith."* 
Johnson.  'Well,  Madam.  The  household  of  Faith  is  wide 
enough.'  Mrs.  Knowles.  'But,  Doctor,  our  Saviour  had 
twelve  Apostles,  yet  there  was  one  whom  he  loved.    John 


380  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

was  called  "the  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved."'  Johnson. 
(with  eyes  sparkling  benignantly,)  'Very  well,  indeed, 
Madam.  You  have  said  very  well.'  Bos  well.  'A  fine 
application.  Pray,  Sir,  had  you  ever  thought  of  it?'  John- 
son.    'I  had  not,  Sir.' 

From  this  pleasing  subject,  he,  I  know  not  how  or  why, 
made  a  sudden  transition  to  one  upon  which  he  was  a  violent 
aggressor;  for  he  said,  'I  am  willing  to  love  all  mankind, 
except  an  American:'  and  his  inflammable  corruption  burst- 
ing into  horrid  fire,  he  'breathed  out  threatenings  and 
slaughter;'  calling  them,  'Rascals — Robbers — Pirates;'  and 
exclaiming,  he'd  'burn  and  destroy  them.'  Miss  Seward, 
looking  to  him  with  mUd  but  steady  astonishment,  said, 
'Sir,  this  is  an  instance  that  we  are  always  most  violent 
against  those  whom  we  have  injured.'  He  was  irritated  still 
more  by  this  delicate  a,nd  keen  reproach;  and  roared  out 
another  tremendous  volley,  which  one  might  fancy  could  be 
heard  across  the  Atlantick.  During  this  tempest  I  sat  in 
great  uneasiness,  lamenting  his  heat  of  temper;  till,  by  de- 
grees, I  diverted  his  attention  to  other  topicks. 

Talking  of  Miss  ,  a  literary  lady,  he  said,  'I  was 

obliged  to  speak  to  Miss  Reynolds,  to  let  her  know  that 
I  desired  she  would  not  flatter  me  so  much.'  Somebody  now 
observed,  'She  flatters  Garrick.'  Johnson.  'She  is  in  the 
right  to  flatter  Garrick.  She  is  in  the  right  for  two  reasons; 
first,  because  she  has  the  world  with  her,  who  have  been 
praising  Garrick  these  thirty  years;  and  secondly,  because 
she  is  rewarded  for  it  by  Garrick.  Why  should  she  flatter 
me?  I  can  do  nothing  for  her.  Let  her  carry  her  praise  to 
a  better  market.  (Then  turning  to  Mrs.  Knowles.)  You, 
Madam,  have  been  flattering  me  all  the  evening;  I  wish  you 
would  give  Boswell  a  little  now.  If  you  knew  his  merit  as 
well  as  I  do,  you  would  say  a  great  deal;  he  is  the  best 
travelling  companion  in  the  world.' 

Somebody  mentioned  the  Reverend  Mr.  Mason's  prose- 
cution of  Mr.  Murray,  the  bookseller,  for  having  inserted  in 
a  collection  of  Gray's  Poems,  only  fifty  lines,  of  which  Mr. 
Mason  had  still  the  exclusive  property,  under  the  statute  of 
Queen  Anne;  and  that  Mr.  Mason  had  persevered,  notwith- 


17781  WESLEY  AND  GHOSTS  381 

standing  his  being  requested  to  name  his  own  terms  of  com- 
pensation. Johnson  signified  his  displeasure  at  Mr.  Mason's 
conduct  very  strongly;  but  added,  by  way  of  shewing  that 
he  was  not  surprized  at  it,  'Mason's  a  Whig.'  Mrs, 
Knowles.  (not  hearing  distinctly,)  'What!  a  Prig,  Sir?' 
Johnson.     'Worse,  Madam;  a  Whig!    But  he  is  both.' 

Of  John  Wesley,  he  said,  'He  can  talk  well  on  any  subject.' 
BoswELL.  'Pray,  Sir,  what  has  he  made  of  his  story  of 
a  ghost?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  he  believes  it;  but  not  on 
sufficient  authority.  He  did  not  take  time  enough  to  ex- 
amine the  girl.  It  was  at  Newcastle,  where  the  ghost  was 
said  to  have  appeared  to  a  young  woman  several  times, 
mentioning  something  about  the  right  to  an  old  house,  ad- 
vising application  to  be  made  to  an  attorney,  which  was 
done;  and,  at  the  same  time,  saying  the  attorneys  would  do 
nothing,  which  proved  to  be  the  fact.  "This  (says  John,)  is 
a  proof  that  a  ghost  knows  our  thoughts."  Now  (laughing,) 
it  is  not  necessary  to  know  our  thoughts,  to  tell  that  an 
attorney  will  sometimes  do  nothing.  Charles  Wesley,  who 
is  a  more  stationary  man,  does  not  believe  the  story.  I  am 
sorry  that  John  did  not  take  more  pains  to  inquire  into  the 
evidence  for  it.'  Miss  Seward,  (with  an  incredulous  smile,) 
'What,  Sir!  about  a  ghost?'  Johnson,  (with  solemn  ve- 
hemence,) 'Yes,  Madam:  this  is  a  question  which,  after 
five  thousand  years,  is  yet  undecided;  a  question,  whether 
in  theology  or  philosophy,  one  of  the  most  important  that 
can  come  before  the  human  understanding.' 

Mrs.  Knowles  mentioned,  as  a  proselyte  to  Quakerism, 

Mias ,  a  young  lady  well  known  to  Dr.  Johnson,  for 

whom  he  had  shewn  much  affection;  while  she  ever  had, 
and  still  retained,  a  great  respect  for  him.  Mrs.  Knowles  at 
the  same  time  took  an  opportunity  of  letting  him  know  '  that 
the  amiable  young  creature  was  sorry  at  finding  that  he  was 
offended  at  her  leaving  the  Church  of  England  and  embracing 
a  simpler  faith;'  and,  in  the  gentlest  and  most  persuasive 
manner,  solicited  his  kind  indulgence  for  what  was  sincerely 
a  matter  of  conscience.  Johnson,  (frowning  very  angrily,) 
'Madam,  she  is  an  odious  wench.  She  could  not  have  any 
proper  conviction  that  it  was  her  duty  to  change  her  religion, 


382  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1778 

which  is  the  most  important  of  all  subjects,  and  should  be 
studied  with  all  care,  and  with  all  the  helps  we  can  get.  She 
knew  no  more  of  the  Church  which  she  left,  and  that  which 
she  embraced,  than  she  did  of  the  difference  between  the 
Coper nican  and  Ptolemaick  systems.'  Mrs.  Knowles. 
'She  had  the  New  Testament  before  her.'  Johnson. 
'Madam,  she  could  not  understand  the  New  Testament,  the 
most  difficult  book  in  the  world,  for  which  the  study  of  a  life 
is  required.'  Mrs.  Knowles.  'It  is  clear  as  to  essentials.' 
Johnson.  '  But  not  as  to  controversial  points.  The  heathens 
were  easily  converted,  because  they  had  nothing  to  give  up; 
but  we  ought  not,  without  very  strong  conviction  indeed,  to 
desert  the  religion  in  which  we  have  been  educated.  That 
is  the  religion  given  you,  the  religion  in  which  it  may  be  said 
Providence  has  placed  you.  If  you  live  conscientiously  in 
that  religion,  you  may  be  safe.  But  errour  is  dangerous 
indeed,  if  you  err  when  you  choose  a  religion  for  yourself.' 
Mrs.  Knowles.  'Must  we  then  go  by  implicit  faith?' 
Johnson.  '  Why,  Madam,  the  greatest  part  of  our  knowledge 
is  implicit  faith;  and  as  to  religion,  have  we  heard  all  that 
a  disciple  of  Confucius,  all  that  a  Mahometan,  can  say  for 
himself  ? '  He  then  rose  again  into  passion,  and  attacked  the 
young  proselyte  in  the  severest  terms  of  reproach,  so  that 
both  the  ladies  seemed  to  be  much  shocked. 

We  remained  together  till  it  was  pretty  late.  Notwith- 
standing occasional  explosions  of  violence,  we  were  all  de- 
lighted upon  the  whole  with  Johnson.  I  compared  him  at 
this  time  to  a  warm  West-Indian  climate,  where  you  have 
a  bright  sun,  quick  vegetation,  luxuriant  foliage,  luscious 
fruits;  but  where  the  same  heat  sometimes  produces  thun- 
der, lightning,  earthquakes,  in  a  terrible  degree. 

April  17,  being  Good  Friday,  I  waited  on  Johnson,  as 
usual.  I  observed  at  breakfast  that  although  it  was  a  part 
of  his  abstemious  discipline  on  this  most  solemn  fast,  to  take 
no  milk  in  his  tea,  yet  when  Mrs.  Desmoulins  inadvertently 
poured  it  in,  he  did  not  reject  it.  I  talked  of  the  strange  in- 
decision of  mind,  and  imbecility  in  the  common  occurrences 
of  life,  which  we  may  observe  in  some  people.  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  I  am  in  the  habit  of  getting  others  to  do  things 


1778]  BOSWELL'S  TRAVELS  383 

forme.'  Boswell.  'What,  Sir!  have  you  that  weakness?' 
Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir.  But  I  always  think  afterwards  I 
should  have  done  better  for  myself,' 

I  expressed  some  inclination  to  publish  an  account  of  my 
Travels  upon  the  continent  of  Europe,  for  which  I  had  a 
variety  of  materials  collected.  Johnson.  'I  do  not  say, 
Sir,  you  may  not  publish  your  travels;  but  I  give  you  my 
opinion,  that  you  would  lessen  yourself  by  it.  What  can 
you  tell  of  countries  so  well  known  as  those  upon  the  con- 
tinent of  Europe,  which  you  have  visited  ? '  Boswell.  '  But 
I  can  give  an  entertaining  narrative,  with  many  incidents, 
anecdotes,  jetix  d'esprit,  and  remarks,  so  as  to  make  very 
pleasant  reading.'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  most  modem 
travellers  in  Europe  who  have  published  their  travels,  have 
been  laughed  at:  I  would  not  have  you  added  to  the  number. 
The  world  is  now  not  contented  to  be  merely  entertained  by 
a  traveller's  narrative;  they  want  to  learn  something.  Now 
some  of  my  friends  asked  me,  why  I  did  not  give  some  ac- 
count of  my  travels  in  France.  The  reason  is  plain ;  intelli- 
gent readers  had  seen  more  of  France  than  I  had.  You 
might  have  liked  my  travels  in  France,  and  The  Club  might 
have  liked  them;  but,  upon  the  whole,  there  would  have 
been  more  ridicule  than  good  produced  by  them.'  Bos- 
well. 'I  cannot  agree  with  you.  Sir.  People  would  like 
to  read  what  you  say  of  any  thing.  Suppose  a  face  has  been 
painted  by  fifty  painters  before;  still  we  love  to  see  it  done 
by  Sir  Joshua.'  Johnson.  'True,  Sir,  but  Sir  Joshua  can- 
not paint  a  face  when  he  has  not  time  to  look  on  it.'  Bos- 
well. 'Sir,  a  sketch  of  any  sort  by  him  is  valuable.  And, 
Sir,  to  talk  to  you  in  your  own  style  (raising  my  voice,  and 
shaking  my  head,)  you  shovld  have  given  us  your  travels  in 
France.    I  am  sure  I  am  right,  and  there's  an  end  on't.' 

I  said  to  him  that  it  was  certainly  true,  as  my  friend 
Dempster  had  observed  in  his  letter  to  me  upon  the  subject, 
that  a  great  part  of  what  was  in  his  Journey  to  the  Western 
Islands  of  Scotland  had  been  in  his  mind  before  he  left  Lon- 
don. Johnson.  'Why  yes,  Sir,  the  topicks  were;  and 
books  of  travels  will  be  good  in  proportion  to  what  a  man 
has  previously  in  his  mind;   his  knowing  what  to  observe; 


584  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [ms 

his  power  of  contrasting  one  mode  of  life  with  another.  As 
the  Spanish  proverb  says,  "He,  who  would  bring  home  the 
wealth  of  the  Indies,  must  carry  the  wealth  of  the  Indies 
with  him."  So  it  is  in  travelling;  a  man  must  carry  knowl- 
edge with  him,  if  he  would  bring  home  knowledge.'  Bos- 
well.  'The  proverb,  I  suppose.  Sir,  means,  he  must  carry 
a  large  stock  with  him  to  trade  with.'  Johnson.  'Yes, 
Sir.' 

It  was  a  delightful  day:  as  we  walked  to  St.  Clement's 
church,  I  again  remarked  that  Fleet-street  was  the  most 
cheerful  scene  in  the  world.  'Fleet-street  (said  I,)  is  in  my 
mind  more  delightful  than  Tempe.'  Johnson.  'Ay,  Sir; 
but  let  it  be  compared  with  Mull.' 

There  was  a  very  numerous  congregation  to-day  at  St. 
Clement's  church,  which  Dr.  Johnson  said  he  observed  with 
pleasure. 

And  now  I  am  to  give  a  pretty  full  account  of  one  of  the 
most  curious  incidents  in  Johnson's  life,  of  which  he  himself 
has  made  the  following  minute  on  this  day:  'In  my  return 
from  church,  I  was  accosted  by  Edwards,  an  old  fellow-colle- 
gian, who  had  not  seen  me  since  1729.  He  knew  me,  and 
asked  if  I  remembered  one  Edwards;  I  did  not  at  first  rec- 
ollect the  name,  but  gradually  as  we  walked  along,  recovered 
it,  and  told  him  a  conversation  that  had  passed  at  an  ale- 
house between  us.  My  purpose  is  to  continue  our  ac- 
quaintance.' 

It  was  in  Butcher-row  that  this  meeting  happened.  Mr. 
Edwards,  who  was  a  decent-looking  elderly  man  in  grey 
clothes,  and  a  wig  of  many  curls,  accosted  Johnson  with 
faniiliar  confidence,  knowing  who  he  was,  while  Johnson 
returned  his  salutation  with  a  courteous  formality,  as  to  a 
stranger.  But  as  soon  as  Edwards  had  brought  to  his  recol- 
lection their  having  been  at  Pembroke-College  together 
nine-and-forty  years  ago,  he  seemed  much  pleased,  asked 
where  he  lived,  and  said  he  should  be  glad  to  see  him  in  Bolt- 
court.  Edwards.  'Ah,  Sir!  we  are  old  men  now.'  John- 
son, (who  never  liked  to  think  of  being  old,)  'Don't  let  us 
discourage  one  another.'  Edwards.  'Why,  Doctor,  you 
look  stout  and  hearty,  I  am  happy  to  see  you  so;   for  the 


17781  A  FELLOW  COLLEGLAN  385 

news-papers  told  us  you  were  very  ill.'  Johnson.  'Ay, 
Sir,  they  are  always  telling  lies  of  us  old  feUows.' 

Wishing  to  be  present  at  more  of  so  singular  a  conversa- 
tion as  that  between  two  fellow-collegians,  who  had  lived 
forty  years  in  London  without  ever  having  chanced  to  meet, 
I  whispered  to  Mr.  Edwards  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  going 
home,  and  that  he  had  bett«r  accompany  him  now.  So 
Edwards  walked  along  with  us,  I  eagerly  assisting  to  keep 
up  the  conversation.  Mr.  Edwards  informed  Dr.  Johnson 
that  he  had  practised  long  as  a  solicitor  in  Chancery,  but  that 
he  now  lived  in  the  country  upon  a  little  farm,  about  sixty 
acres,  just  by  Stevenage  in  Hertfordshire,  and  that  he  came 
to  London  (to  Barnard's  Inn,  No.  6),  generally  twice  a  week. 
Johnson  appearing  to  me  in  a  reverie,  Mr.  Edwards  addressed 
himself  to  me,  and  expatiated  on  the  pleasure  "of  living  in  the 
country.  Boswell.  'I  have  no  notion  of  this.  Sir.  What 
you  have  to  entertain  you,  is,  I  think,  exhausted  in  half  an 
hour.'  Edwards.  'What?  don't  you  love  to  have  hope 
realized?  I  see  my  grass,  and  my  corn,  and  my  trees  grow- 
ing. Now,  for  instance,  I  am  curious  to  see  if  this  frost  has 
not  nipped  my  fruit-trees.'  Johnson,  (who  we  did  not 
imagine  was  attending,)  'You  find.  Sir,  you  have  fears  as 
well  as  hopes.' — So  well  did  he  see  the  whole,  when  another 
saw  but  the  half  of  a  subject. 

When  we  got  to  Dr.  Johnson's  house,  and  were  seated  ia 
his  library,  the  dialogue  went  on  admirably.  Edwards. 
'Sir,  I  remember  you  would  not  let  us  say  prodigious  at 
College.  For  even  then.  Sir,  (turning  to  me,)  he  was  deli- 
cate in  language,  and  we  all  feared  him.'  ^  Johnson,  (to 
Edwards,)  '  From  your  having  practised  the  law  long,  Sir, 
I  presume  you  must  be  rich.'  Edwards.  'No,  Sir;  I  got 
a  good  deal  of  money;  but  I  had  a  number  of  poor  relations 
to  whom  I  gave  a  great  part  of  it.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  you 
have  been  rich  in  the  most  valuable  sense  of  the  word.' 
Edwards.  'But  I  shall  not  die  rich.'  Johnson.  'Nay^ 
sure.  Sir,  it  is  better  to  live  rich  than  to  die  rich.'    Edwards. 

■  Johnson  said  to  me  afterwards,"*  Sir,  they  respected  me  for  my 
literatiire ;  and  yet  it  was  not  great  but  by  comparison.  Sir,  it  is  amaz- 
ing how  little  literature  there  is  in  the  world.' — Boswbu^  -  - 


386,  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

^I  wish  I  had  continued  at  College.'  Johnson.  'Why  do 
you  wish  that,  Sir?'  Edwards.  'Because  I  think  I  should 
Lave  had  a  much  easier  life  than  mine  has  been.  I  should 
have  been  a  parson,  and  had  a  good  living,  like  Bloxam  and 
several  others,  and  lived  comfortably.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  the 
life  of  a  parson,  of  a  conscientious  clergyman,  is  not  easy^ 
I  have  always  considered  a  clergyman  as  the  father  of  a- 
larger  family  than  he  is  able  to  maintain.  I  would  ratheif 
have  Chancery  suits  upon  my  hands  than  the  cure  of  souls.. 
No,  Sir,  I  do  not  envy  a  clergyman's  life  as  an  easy  life,  nor 
do  I  envy  the  clergyman  who  makes  it  an  easy  life.'  Here 
taking  himself  up  all  of  a  sudden,  he  exclaimed,  'O!  Mr. 
Edwards!  I'll  convince  you  that  I  recollect  you.  Do  you 
remember  our  drinking  together  at  an  alehouse  near  Pem- 
broke gate?  At  that  time,  you  told  me  of  the  Eton  boy,i 
who,  when  verses  on  our  Saviour's  turning  water  into  wine: 
were  prescribed  as  an  exercise,  brought  up  a  single  line, 
which  was  highly  admired, — 

"Vidit  et  embuit  lympha  pudica  Dettm," 

and  I  told  you  of  another  fine  line  in  Camden's  Remains,  an 
eulogy  upon  one  of  our  Kings,  who  was  succeeded  by  his  son, 
a  prince  of  equal  merit: — 

"  Mira  cano,  Sol  occuhuit,  nox  ntdla  seeuta  est." ' 

Edwards.  'You  are  a  philosopher.  Dr.  Johnson.  I  have 
tried  too  in  my  time  to  be  a  philosopher;  but,  I  don't  know 
how,  cheerfulness  was  always  breaking  in.' — Mr.  Burke,  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  Mr.  Courtenay,  Mr.  Malone,  and,  indeed, 
all  the  eminent  men  to  whom  I  have  mentioned  this,  have 
thought  it  an  exquisite  trait  of  character.  The  truth  is,  that 
philosophy,  like  religion,  is  too  generally  supposed  to  be  hard 
and  severe,  at  least  so  grave  as  to  exclude  all  gaiety, 

Edwards.  'I  have  been  twice  married.  Doctor.  You, 
I  suppose,  have  never  known  what  it  was  to  have  a  wife.' 
Johnson.  'Sir,  I  have  known  what  it  was  to  have  a  wife, 
and  (in  a  solemn,  tender,  faultering  tone)  I  have  known  what 
it  was  to  lose  a  wife. — It  had  almost  broke  my  heart.' 


17781  REGULAR  MEALS  AND  FASTING  387 

Edwards.  'How  do  you  live,  Sir?  For  my  part,  I  must 
have  my  regular  meals,  and  a  glass  of  good  wine.  I  find 
I  require  it.'  Johnson.  'I  now  drink  no  wine.  Sir.  Early 
in  life  I  drank  wine:  for  many  years  I  drank  none.  I  then 
for  some  years  drank  a  great  deal.'  Edwards.  'Some  hogs- 
heads, I  warrant  you.'  Johnson.  'I  then  had  a  severe 
illness,  and  left  it  off,  and  I  have  never  begun  it  again.  I 
never  felt  any  difference  upon  myself  from  eating  one  thing 
rather  than  another,  nor  from  one  kind  of  weather  rather 
than  another.  There  are  people,  I  believe,  who  feel  a  differ- 
ence; but  I  am  not  one  of  them.  And  as  to  regular  meals, 
I  have  fasted  from  the  Sunday's  dinner  to  the  Tuesday's 
dinner,  without  any  inconvenience.  I  believe  it  is  best  to 
eat  just  as  one  is  hungry:  but  a  man  who  is  in  business,  or 
a  man  who  has  a  family,  must  have  stated  meals.  I  am 
a  straggler.  I  may  leave  this  tovm  and  go  to  Grand  Cairo, 
without  being  missed  here  or  observed  there.'  Edwards. 
'Don't  you  eat  supper.  Sir?'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir.'  Ed- 
wards. '  For  my  part,  now,  I  consider  supper  as  a  turnpike 
through  which  one  must  pass,  in  order  to  get  to  bed.' 

Johnson.  'You  are  a  lawyer,  Mr.  Edwards.  Lawyers 
know  life  practically.  A  bookish  man  should  always  have 
them  to  converse  with.  They  have  what  he  wants.'  Ed- 
wards. 'I  am  grown  old:  I  am  sixty-five.'  Johnson.  'I 
shall  be  sixty-eight  next  birth-day.  Come,  Sir,  drink  water, 
and  put  in  for  a  hundred.' 

This  interview  confirmed  my  opinion  of  Johnson's  most 
humane  and  benevolent  heart.  His  cordial  and  placid  be- 
haviour to  an  old  fellow-collegian,  a  man  so  different  from 
himself;  and  his  telling  him  that  he  would  go  down  to  his 
farm  and  visit  him,  showed  a  kindness  of  disposition  very 
rare  at  an  advanced  age.  He  observed,  'how  wonderful  it 
was  that  they  had  both  been  in  London  forty  years,  without 
having  ever  once  met,  and  both  walkers  in  the  street  too!* 
Mr.  Edwards,  when  going  away,  again  recurred  to  his  con- 
sciousness of  senility,  and  looking  full  in  Johnson's  face,  said 
to  him,  'You'll  find  in  Dr.  Young, 

"  O  my  coevals!  remnants  of  yourselves."  * 


388  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

Johnson  did  not  relish  this  at  all;  but  shook  his  head  with 
impatience.  Edwards  walked  off,  seemingly  highly  pleased 
with  the  honour  of  having  been  thus  noticed  by  Dr.  Johnson. 
When  he  was  gone,  I  said  to  Johnson,  I  thought  him  but 
a  weak  man.  Johnson.  'Why,  yes,  Sir.  Here  is  a  man 
who  has  passed  through  life  without  experience:  yet  I  would 
rather  have  him  with  me  than  a  more  sensible  man  who  will 
not  talk  readily.  This  man  is  always  willing  to  say  what  he 
has  to  say.'  Yet  Dr.  Johnson  had  himself  by  no  means  that 
willingness  which  he  praised  so  much,  and  I  think  so  justly; 
for  who  has  not  felt  the  painful  effect  of  the  dreary  void, 
when  there  is  a  total  silence  in  a  company,  for  any  length  of 
time;  or,  which  is  as  bad,  or  perhaps  worse,  when  the  con- 
versation is  with  difficulty  kept  up  by  a  perpetual  effort? 

Johnson  once  observed  to  me,  'Tom  Tyers  described  me 
the  best:  "Sir,  (said  he,)  you  are  like  a  ghost:  you  never 
speak  till  you  are  spoken  to.'" 

The  gentleman  whom  he  thus  familiarly  mentioned  was 
Mr.  Thomas  Tyers,  son  of  Mr.  Jonathan  Tyers,  the  founder 
of  that  excellent  place  of  publick  amusement,  Vauxhall 
Gardens,  which  must  ever  be  an  estate  to  its  proprietor,  as  it 
is  peculiarlj''  adapted  to  the  taste  of  the  English  nation; 
there  being  a  mixture  of  curious  show, — gay  exhibition, 
musick,  vocal  and  instrumental,  not  too  refined  for  the  gen- 
eral ear; — for  all  which  only  a  shilling  is  paid;  and,  though 
last,  not  least,  good  eating  and  drinking  for  those  who  choose 
to  purchase  that  regale.  Mr.  Thomas  Tyers  was  bred  to  the 
law;  but  having  a  handsome  fortune,  vivacity  of  temper, 
and  eccentricity  of  mind,  he  could  not  confine  himself  to  the 
regularity  of  practice.  He  therefore  ran  about  the  world 
with  a  pleasant  carelessness,  amusing  everybody  by  his 
desultory  conversation.  He  abounded  in  anecdote,  but  was 
not  sufficiently  attentive  to  accuracy.  I  therefore  cannot 
venture  to  avail  myself  much  of  a  biographical  sketch  of 
Johnson  which  he  published,  being  one  among  the  various 
persons  ambitious  of  appending  their  names  to  that  of  my 
illustrious  friend.  That  sketch  is,  however,  an  entertaining 
little  collection  of  fragments.  Those  which  he  published  of 
Pope  and  Addison  are  of  higher  merit;    but  his  fame  must 


1778]     JOHNSON'S  DISAPPOINTED  AMBITION     389 

chiefly  rest  upon  his  Political  Conferencet,  in  which  he  in- 
troduces several  eminent  persons  delivering  their  sentiments 
in  the  way  of  dialogue,  and  discovers  a  considerable  share  of 
learning,  various  knowledge,  and  discernment  of  character. 
This  much  may  I  be  allowed  to  say  of  a  man  who  was  ex- 
ceedingly obliging  to  me,  and  who  lived  with  Dr.  Johnson 
in  as  easy  a  manner  as  almost  any  of  his  very  numerous 
acquaintance. 

Mr.  Edwards  had  said  to  me  aside,  that  Dr.  Johnson 
should  have  been  of  a  profession.  I  repeated  the  remark  to 
Johnson  that  I  might  have  his  own  thoughts  on  the  subject. 
Johnson.  'Sir,  it  would  have  been  better  that  I  had  been  of 
a  profession.  I  ought  to  have  been  a  lawyer.'  Boswell. 
'  I  do  not  think.  Sir,  it  would  have  been  better,  for  we  should 
not  have  had  the  English  Dictionary.'  Johnson.  'But  you 
would  have  had /Reports.'  Boswell.  'Ay;  but  there  would 
not  have  been  another,  who  could  have  written  the  Dic- 
tionary. There  have  been  many  very  good  Judges.  Suppose 
you  had  been  Lord  Chancellor;  you  would  have  delivered 
opinions  with  more  extent  of  mind,  and  in  a  more  ornamented 
manner,  than  perhaps  any  Chancellor  ever  did,  or  ever  will 
do.  But,  I  believe,  causes  have  been  as  judiciously  decided 
as  you  could  have  done.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir.  Property 
has  been  as  well  settled.' 

Johnson,  however,  had  a  noble  ambition  floating  in  his 
mind,  and  had,  undoubtedly,  often  speculated  on  the  possi- 
bility of  his  supereminent  powers  being  rewarded  in  this 
great  and  liberal  country  by  the  highest  honours  of  the  state. 
Sir  WilUam  Scott  informs  me,  that  upon  the  death  of  the 
late  Lord  Lichfield,  who  was  Chancellor  of  the  University  of 
Oxford,  he  said  to  Johnson,  *  What  a  pity  it  is.  Sir,  that  you 
did  not  follow  the  profession  of  the  law.  You  might  have 
been  Lord  Chancellor  of  Great  Britain,  and  attained  to  the 
dignity  of  the  peerage;  and  now  that  the  title  of  Lichfield, 
your  native  city,  is  extinct,  you  might  have  had  it.'  Johnson, 
upon  this,  seemed  much  agitated;  and,  in  an  angry  tone, 
exclaimed,  '  Why  will  you  vex  me  by  suggesting  this,  when 
it  is  too  late?' 

But  he  did  not  repine  at  the  prosperity  of  others.    The 


390  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  ii778 

late  Dr.  Thomas  Leland,  told  Mr.  Courtenay,  that  when 
Mr.  Edmund  Burke  shewed  Johnson  his  fine  house  and  lands 
near  Beaconsfield,  Johnson  coolly  said,  'Non  equidem  invideo; 
miror  magis.'^ 

Yet  no  man  had  a  higher  notion  of  the  dignity  of  literature 
than  Johnson,  or  was  more  determined  in  maintaining  the 
respect  which  he  justly  considered  as  due  to  it.  Of  this, 
besides  the  general  tenor  of  his  conduct  in  society,  some 
characteristical  instances  may  be  mentioned. 

He  told  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  that  once  when  he  dined  in 
a  numerous  company  of  booksellers,  where  the  room  being 
small,  the  head  of  the  table,  at  which  he  sat,  was  almost 
close  to  the  fire,  he  persevered  in  suffering  a  great  deal  of 
inconvenience  from  the  heat,  rather  than  quit  his  place, 
and  let  one  of  them  sit  above  him. 

Goldsmith,  in  his  diverting  simplicity,  complained  one 
day,  in  a  mixed  company,  of  Lord  Camden.  'I  met  him 
(said  he,)  at  Lord  Clare's  house  in  the  country,  and  he  took 
no  more  notice  of  me  than  if  I  had  been  an  ordinary  man. 
The  company  having  laughed  heartily,  Johnson  stood  forth 
in  defence  of  his  friend.  'Nay,  Gentlemen,  (said  he,)  Dr. 
Goldsmith  is  in  the  right.  A  nobleman  ought  to  have  made 
up  to  such  a  man  as  Goldsmith;  and  I  think  it  is  much 
against  Lord  Camden  that  he  neglected  him.' 

Nor  could  he  patiently  endure  to  hear  that  such  respect 
as  he  thought  due  only  to  higher  intellectual  qualities, 
should  be  bestowed  on  men  of  slighter,  though  perhaps 
more  amusing  talents.  I  told  him,  that  one  morning,  when 
I  went  to  breakfast  with  Garrick,  who  was  very  vain  of  his 
intimacy  with  Lord  Camden,  he  accosted  me  thus: — 'Pray 
now,  did  you — did  you  meet  a  little  lawyer  turning  the 
corner,  eh?' — 'No,  Sir,  (said  I).  Pray  what  do  you  mean 
by  the  question?' — 'Why,  (replied  Garrick,  with  an  affected 
indifference,  yet  as  if  standing  on  tip-toe,)  Lord  Camden  has 
this  moment  left  me.    We  have  had  a  long  walk  together.' 

1 1  am  not  entirely  without  siispicion  that  Johnson  may  have  felt 
a  little  momentary  envy ;  for  no  man  loved  the.  good  things  of  this  life 
better  than  he  did ;  and  he  could  not  but  be  conscious  that  he  deserved 
a  much  larger  share  of  them,  than  he  ever  had. — Bobwell. 


1778]        UNWILLING  TO  PART  WITH  LIFE        391 

Johnson.  'Well,  Sir,  Garrick  talked  very  properly.  Lord 
Camden  was  a  little  lawyer  to  be  associating  so  familiarly 
with  a  player.' 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  observed,  with  great  truth,  that 
Johnson  considered  Garrick  to  be  as  it  were  his  property. 
He  would  allow  no  man  either  to  blame  or  to  praise  Garrick 
in  his  presence,  without  contradicting  him. 

Having  fallen  into  a  very  serious  frame  of  mind,  in  which 
mutual  expressions  of  kindness  passed  between  us,  such  as 
would  be  thought  too  vain  in  me  to  repeat,  I  talked  with 
regret  of  the  sad  inevitable  certainty  that  one  of  us  must 
surxive  the  other.  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  that  is  an  affect- 
ing consideration.  I  remember  Swift,  in  one  of  his  letters 
to  Pope,  says,  "I  intend  to  come  over,  that  we  may  meet 
once  more;  and  when  we  must  part,  it  is  what  happens  to 
all  human  beings.'"  Boswell.  'The  hope  that  we  shall 
see  our  departed  friends  again  must  support  the  mind.' 
Johnson.  'Why  yes.  Sir.'  Boswell.  "There  is  a  strange 
unwillingness  to  part  with  life,  independent  of  serious  fears 
as  to  futurity.  A  reverend  friend  of  ours  (naming  him) 
tells  me,  that  he  feels  an  uneasiness  at  the  thoughts  of 
leaving  his  house,  his  study,  his  books.'  Johnson.  '.This 
is  foolish  in  *****.  A  man  need  not  be  uneasy  on  these 
grounds;  for,  as  he  will  retain  his  consciousness,  he  may 
say  with  the  philosopher.  Omnia  mea  mecum  porta.'  Bos- 
well. 'True,  Sir:  we  may  carry  our  books  in  our  heads; 
but  still  there  is  something  painful  in  the  thought  of  leav- 
ing for  ever  what  has  given  us  pleasure.  I  remember, 
many  years  ago,  when  my  imagination  was  warm,  and  I 
happened  to  be  in  a  melancholy  mood,  it  distressed  me  to 
think  of  going  into  a  state  of  being  in  which  Shakspeare's 
poetry  did  not  exist.  A  lady  whom  I  then  much  admired, 
a  very  amiable  woman,  humoured  my  fancy,  and  relieved 
me  by  saying,  "The  first  thing  you  will  meet  in  the  other 
world,  will  be  an  elegant  copy  of  Shakspeare's  works  pre- 
sented to  you."'  Dr.  Johnson  smiled  benignantly  at  this, 
and  did  not  appear  to  disapprove  of  the  notion. 

We  went  to  St.  Clement's  church  again  in  the  afternoon, 
and  then  returned  and  drank  tea  and  coffee  in  Mrs.  Wil- 


392  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

liams's  room;  Mrs.  Desmoulins  doing  th§  honours  of  the 
tea-table.  I  observed  that  he  would  not  even  look  at  a 
proof-sheet  of  his  Life  of  Waller  on  Good-Friday. 

On  Saturday,  April  14,  I  drank  tea  with  him.  He  praised 
the  late  Mr.  Buncombe,  of  Canterbury,  as  a  pleasing  man. 
'He  used  to  come  to  me:  I  did  not  seek  much  after  him. 
Indeed  I  never  sought  much  after  any  body.'  Boswell. 
'Lord  Orrery,  I  suppose.'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir;  I  never 
went  to  him  but  when  he  sent  for  me.'  Boswell.  '  Richard- 
son?' Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir.  But  I  sought  after  George 
Psahnanazar  the  most.  I  used  to  go  and  sit  with  him  at 
an  alehouse  in  the  city.' 

I  am  happy  to  mention  another  instance  which  I  discov- 
ered of  his  seeking  after  a  man  of  merit.  Soon  after  the 
Honourable  Daines  Barrington  had  published  his  excellent 
Observations  on  the  Statutes,  Johnson  waited  on  that  worthy 
and  learned  gentleman;  and,  having  told  him  his  name, 
courteously  said,  'I  have  read  your  book,  Sir,  with  great 
pleasure,  and  wish  to  be  better  known  to  you.'  Thus  be- 
gan an  acquaintance,  which  was  continued  with  mutual  re- 
gard as  long  as  Johnson  lived. 

Talking  of  a  recent  seditious  delinquent,  he  said,  'They 
should  set  him  in  the  pillory,  that  he  may  be  punished  in 
a  way  that  would  disgrace  him.'  I  observed,  that  the  pil- 
lory does  not  always  disgrace.  And  I  mentioned  an  instance 
of  a  gentleman  who  I  thought  was  not  dishonoured  by  it. 
Johnson.  'Ay,  but  he  was,  Sir.  He  could  not  mouth  and 
strut  as  he  used  to  do,  after  having  been  there.  People  are 
not  willing  to  ask  a  man  to  their  tables  who  has  stood  in 
the  pillory,' 

Johnson  attacked  the  Americans  with  intemperate  ve- 
hemence of  abuse.  I  said  something  in  their  favour;  and 
added,  that  I  was  always  sorry  when  he  talked  on  that 
subject.  This,  it  seems,  exasperated  him;  though  he  said 
nothing  at  the  time.  The  cloud  was  charged  with  sul- 
phureous vapour,  which  was  afterwards  to  burst  in  thunder. 
— We  talked  of  a  gentleman  who  was  running  out  his  for- 
tune in  London;  and  I  said,  'We  must  get  him  out  of  it. 
All  his  friends  must  quarrel  with  him,  and  that  will  soon 


1778]  HIS  DRAWING-ROOM  393 

drive  him  away.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir;  we'll  send  you  to 
him.  If  your  company  does  not  drive  a  man  out  of  his  house, 
nothing  will.'  This  was  a  horrible  shock,  for  which  there 
was  no  visible  cause.  I  afterwards  asked  him  why  he  had 
said  so  harsh  a  thing.  Johnson.  'Because,  Sir,  you  made 
me  angry  about  the  Americans.'  Boswell.  'But  why  did 
you  not  take  your  revenge  directly?'  Johnson,  (smiling,) 
'Because,  Sir,  I  had  nothing  ready.  A  man  cannot  strike 
till  he  has  his  weapons.'  This  was  a  candid  and  pleasant 
confession. 

He  shewed  me  to-night  his  drawing-room,  very  genteelly 
fitted  up;  and  said,  'Mrs.  Thrale  sneered  when  I  talked  of 
my  having  asked  you  and  your  lady  to  live  at  my  house. 
I  was  obliged  to  tell  her,  that  you  would  be  in  as  respect- 
able a  situation  in  my  house  as  in  hers.  Sir,  the  insolence 
of  wealth  will  creep  out.'  Boswell.  'She  has  a  little  both 
of  the  insolence  of  wealth,  and  the  conceit  of  parts.'  John- 
son. 'The  insolence  of  wealth  is  a  wretched  thing;  but  the 
conceit  of  parts  has  some  foundation.  To  be  sure  it  sh6uld 
not  be.  But  who  is  without  it  ? '  Boswell.  '  Yourself,  Sir.' 
Johnson.  'Why,  I  play  no  tricks:  I  lay  no  traps.'  Bos- 
well. 'No,  Sir.  You  are  six  feet  high,  and  you  only  do 
not  stoop.' 

We  talked  of  the  numbers  of  people  that  sometimes  have 
composed  the  household  of  great  families.  I  mentioned 
that  there  were  a  hundred  in  the  family  of  the  present  Earl 
of  Eglintoune's  father.  Dr.  Johnson  seeming  to  doubt  it, 
I  began  to  enumerate.  'Let  us  see:  my  Lord  and  my  Lady 
two.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  if  you  are  to  count  by  twos, 
you  may  be  long  enough.'  Boswell.  'Well,  but  now  I 
add  two  sons  and  seven  daughters,  and  a  servant  for  each, 
that  will  make  twenty;  so  we  have  the  fifth  jmrt  already.' 
Johnson.  'Very  true.  You  get  at  twenty  pretty  readily; 
but  you  will  not  so  easily  get  further  on.  We  grow  to  five 
feet  pretty  readily;   but  it  is  not  so  easy  to  grow  to  seven.' 

On  Monday,  April  20,  I  found  him  at  home  in  the  morn- 
ing. We  talked  of  a  gentleman  who  we  apprehended  wa» 
gradually  involving  his  circumstances  by  bad  management. 
Johnson.     '  Wasting  a  fortune  is  evaporation  by  a  thousand 


Ws  LIFE   OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [i778 

imp)erceptible  means.  If  it  were  a  stream,  they'd  stop  it.. 
You  must  speak  to  him.  It  is  really  miserable.  Were  he 
a  gamester,  it  could  be  said  he  had  hopes  of  winning.  Were, 
he  a  bankrupt  in  trade,  he  might  have  grown  rich;  but  he 
has  neither  spirit  to  spend  nor  resolution  to  spare.  He  does 
not  spend  fast  enough  to  have  pleasure  from  it.  He  has  the 
crime  of  prodigality,  and  the  wretchedness  of  parsimony. 
If  a  man  is  killed  in  a  duel,  he  is  killed  as  many  a  one  has 
been  killed;  but  it  is  a  sad  thmg  for  a  man  to  lie  down  and 
die;  to  bleed  to  death,  because  he  has  not  fortitude  enough, 
to  sear  the  wound,  or  even  to  stitch  it  up.'  I  cannot  but 
pause  a  moment  to  admire  the  fecundity  of  fancy,  and 
choice  of  language,  which  in  this  instance,  and,  indeed,  on 
almost  all  occasions,  he  displayed.  It  was  well  observed 
by  Dr.  Percy,  now  Bishop  of  Dromore,  '  The  conversation  of 
Johnson  is  strong  and  clear,  and  may  be  compared  to  an 
antique  statue,  where  every  vein  and  muscle  is  distinct  and 
bold.     Ordinary  conversation  resembles  an  inferiour  cast.' 

On  Saturday,  April  25,  I  dined  with  him  at  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds's,  with  the  learned  Dr.  Musgrave,  Counsellor 
Leland  of  Ireland,  son  to  the  historian,  Mrs.  Cholmondeley, 
and  some  more  ladies. 

'Demosthenes  Taylor,  as  he  was  called,  (that  is,  the 
Editor  of  Demosthenes)  was  the  most  silent  man,  the  merest 
statue  of  a  man  that  I  have  ever  seen.  I  once  dined  in  com- 
pany with  him,  and  all  he  said  during  the  whole  time  was  no 
more  than  Richard.  How  a  man  should  say  only  Richard, 
it  is  not  easy  to  imagine.  But  it  was  thus:  Dr.  Douglas 
was  talking  of  Dr.  Zachary  Grey,  and  ascribing  to  him  some- 
thing that  was  written  by  Dr.  Richard  Grey.  So,  to  correct 
him,  Taylor  said,  (imitating  his  affected  sententious  emphasis 
and  nod,)  "Richard." ' 

Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  in  a  high  flow  of  spirits,  exhibited 
some  Uvely  sallies  of  hyperbolical  compliment  to  Johnson, 
with  whom  she  had  been  long  acquainted,  and  was  very 
easy.  He  was  quick  in  catching  the  manner  of  the  moment, 
and  answered  her  somewhat  in  the  style  of  the  hero  of  a 
romance,  'Madam,  you  crown  me  with  unfading  laurels.' 

We  talked  of  a  lady's  verses  on  Ireland.  Miss  Reynolds. 


1778]  ADVICE  ON  PUBLISHING  395 

'Have  you  seen  them,  Sir?'  Johnson.  'No,  Madam.  I 
have  seen  a  translation  from  Horace,  by  one  of  her  daugh- 
ters. She  shewed  it  me.'  Miss  Reynolds.  'And  how  was 
it.  Sir?'  Johnson.  'Why,  very  well  for  a  young  Miss's 
verses; — that  is  to  say,  compared  with  excellence,  nothing; 
but,  very  well,  for  the  person  who  wrote  them.  I  am  vexed 
at  being  shewn  verses  in  that  manner.'  Miss  Reynolds. 
'But  if  they  should  be  good,  why  not  give  them  hearty 
praise?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Madam,  because  I  have  not 
then  got  the  better  of  my  bad  humour  from  having  been 
shewn  them.  You  must  consider,  Madam;  beforehand 
they  may  be  bad,  as  well  as  good.  Nobody  has  a  right  to 
put  another  under  such  a  difficulty,  that  he  must  either  hurt 
the  person  by  telling  the  truth,  or  hurt  himself  by  telling 
what  is  not  true.'  Boswell.  'A  man  often  shews  his  writ- 
ings to  people  of  eminence,  to  obtain  from  them,  either  from 
their  good-nature,  or  from  their  not  being  able  to  tell  the 
truth  firmly,  a  commendation,  of  which  he  may  afterwards 
avail  himself.'  Johnson.  'Very  true,  Sir.  Therefore  the 
man,  who  is  asked  by  an  authour,  what  he  thinks  of  his  work, 
is  put  to  the  torture,  and  is  not  obliged  to  speak  the  truth; 
so  that  what  he  says  is  not  considered  as  his  opinion;  yet 
he  has  said  it,  and  cannot  retract  it;  and  this  authour,  when 
mankind  are  hunting  him  with  a  cannister  at  his  tail,  can 
say,  "I  would  not  have  published,  had  not  Johnson,  or  Rey- 
nolds, or  Musgrave,  or  some  other  good  judge,  commended 
the  work."  Yet  I  consider  it  as  a  very  difficult  question  in 
conscience,  whether  one  should  advise  a  man  not  to  publish 
a  work,  if  profit  be  his  object;  for  the  man  may  say,  "  Had  it 
not  been  for  you,  I  should  have  had  the  money."  Now  you 
cannot  be  sure;  for  you  have  only  your  own  opinion,  and  the 
publick  may  think  very  differently.'  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
'You  must  upon  such  an  occasion  have  two  judgements; 
one  as  to  the  real  value  of  the  work,  the  other  as  to  what 
may  please  the  general  taste  at  the  time.'  Johnson.  'But 
you  can  be  sure  of  neither;  and  therefore  I  should  scruple 
much  to  give  a  suppressive  vote.  Both  Goldsmith's  com- 
edies were  once  refused;  his  first  by  Garrick,  hLs  second  by 
Colman,  who  was  prevailed  on  at  last  by  much  solicitation, 


396  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i77» 

nay,  a  kind  of  force,  to  bring  it  on.  His  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field I  myself  did  not  think  would  have  had  much  success. 
It  was  written  and  sold  to  a  bookseller  before  his  Traveller; 
but  published  after;  so  little  expectation  had  the  book- 
seller from  it.  Had  it  been  sold  after  the  Traveller,  he 
might  have  had  twice  as  much  money  for  it,  though  sixty 
guineas  was  no  mean  price.  The  bookseller  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  Goldsmith's  reputation  from  The  Traveller  in 
the  sale,  though  Goldsmith  had  it  not  in  selling  the  copy.' 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  'The  Beggar's  Opera  affords  a 
proof  how  strangely  people  will  differ  in  opinion  about  a 
literary  performance.  Burke  thinks  it  has  no  merit.'  John- 
son. 'It  was  refused  by  one  of  the  houses;  but  I  should 
have  thought  it  would  succeed,  not  from  any  great  excellence 
in  the  writing,  but  from  the  novelty,  and  the  general  spirit 
and  gaiety  of  the  piece,  which  keeps  the  audience  always 
attentive,  and  dismisses  them  in  good  humour.' 

We  went  to  the  drawing-room,  where  was  a  considerable 
increase  of  company.  Several  of  us  got  round  Dr.  Johnson, 
and  complained  that  he  would  not  give  us  an  exact  cata- 
logue of  his  works,  that  there  might  be  a  complete  edition. 
He  smiled,  and  evaded  our  entreaties.  That  he  intended 
to  do  it,  I  have  no  doubt,  because  I  have  heard  him  say 
so;  and  I  have  in  my  possession  an  imperfect  list,  fairly 
written  out,  which  he  entitles  Historia  Studiorum.  I  once 
got  from  one  of  his  friends  a  list,  which  there  was  pretty 
good  reason  to  suppose  was  accurate,  for  it  was  written  down 
in  his  presence  by  this  friend,  who  enumerated  each  article 
aloud,  and  had  some  of  them  mentioned  to  him  by  Mr. 
I^vett,  in  concert  with  whom  it  was  made  out;  and  Johnson, 
who  heard  all  this,  did  not  contradict  it.  But  when  I  shewed 
a  copy  of  this  lict  to  him,  and  mentioned  the  evidence  for 
its  exactness,  he  laughed,  and  said,  'I  was  willing  to  let 
them  go  on  as  they  pleased,  and  never  interfered.'  Upon 
which  I  read  it  to  him,  article  by  article,  and  got  him  posi- 
tively to  own  or  refuse;  and  then,  having  obtained  certainty 
so  far,  I  got  some  other  articles  confirmed  by  him  directly; 
and  afterwards,  from  time  to  time,  made  additions  under 
his  sanction. 


1778]  BURKE'S  CLASSICAL  PUNS  397 

The  conversation  having  turned  on  Bon-Mots,  he  quoted, 
from  one  of  the  Ana,  an  exquisite  instance  of  flattery  in  a 
maid  of  honour  in  France,  who  being  asked  by  the  Queen 
what  o'clock  it  was,  answered,  'What  your  Majesty  pleases.' 
He  admitted  that  Mr.  Burke's  classical  pun  upon  Mr. 
Wilkes's  being  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  the  mob, — 

-Numeruque  feriur 


Lege  soluiiis,' 


was  admirable;  and  though  he  was  strangely  unwilling  to 
allow  to  that  extraordinary  man  the  talent  of  wit,  he  also 
laughed  with  approbation  at  another  of  his  playful  con- 
ceits; which  was,  that  'Horace  has  in  one  line  given  a  de- 
scription of  a  good  desirable  manour: — 

"  Est  modus  in  rebus,  surd  certi  denique  fines;  " 

that  is  to  say,  a  modus  as  to  the  tithes  and  certain  fines.' 

He  observed,  A  man  cannot  with  propriety  speak  of 
himself,  except  he  relates  simple  facts;  as,  "I  was  at  Rich- 
mond:" or  what  depends  on  mensuration;  as,  "I  am  six 
feet  high."  He  is  sure  he  has  been  at  Richmond;  he  is  sure 
he  is  six  feet  high:  but  he  cannot  be  sure  he  is  wise,  or  that 
he  has  any  other  excellence.  Then,  all  censure  of  a  man's 
self  is  oblique  praise.  It  is  in  order  to  shew  how  much  he 
can  spare.  It  has  all  the  invidiousness  of  self-praise,  and  all 
the  reproach  of  falsehood.' 

On  Tuesday,  April  28,  he  was  engaged  to  dine  at  General 
Paoli's,  where,  as  I  have  already  observed,  I  was  still  enter- 
tained in  elegant  hospitality,  and  with  all  the  ease  and  com- 
fort of  a  home.  I  called  on  him,  and  accompanied  him  in 
a  hackney-coach.  We  stopped  first  at  the  bottom  of  Hedge- 
lane,  into  which  he  went  to  leave  a  letter,  'with  good  news 
for  a  poor  man  in  distress,'  as  he  told  me.  I  did  not  ques- 
tion him  particularly  as  to  this.  He  himself  often  resem- 
bled Lady  Bolingbroke's  lively  description  of  Pope;  that 
'he  was  un  'politique  aux  choux  el  aux  raves.'  He  would  say,. 
*I  dine  to-day  in  Grosvenor-square;'  this  might  be  with  a 


398  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

Duke:  or,  j)erhaps,  'I  dine  to-day  at  the  other  end  of  the 
town:'  or,  'A  gentleman  of  great  eminence  called  on  me 
yesterday.'  He  loved  thus  to  keep  things  floating  in  con- 
jecture: Omne  ignotum  'pro  magnifico  est.  I  believe  I  ven- 
tured to  dissipate  the  cloud,  to  unveil  the  mystery,  more 
freely  and  frequently  than  any  of  his  friends.  We  stopped 
again  at  Wirgman's,  the  well-known  toy-shop,  in  St.  James's- 
street,  at  the  corner  of  St.  James's-place,  to  which  he  had 
been  directed,  but  not  clearly,  for  he  searched  about  some 
time,  and  could  not  find  it  at  first;  and  said,  'To  direct  one 
only  to  a  corner  shop  is  toying  with  one.'  I  suppose  he  meant 
this  as  a  play  upon  the  word  toy:  it  was  the  first  time  that 
I  knew  him  stoop  to  such  sport.  After  he  had  been  some 
time  in  the  shop,  he  sent  for  me  to  come  out  of  the  coach, 
and  help  him  to  choose  a  pair  of  silver  buckles,  as  those 
he  had  were  too  small.  Probably  this  alteration  in  dress 
had  been  suggested  by  Mrs.  Thrale,  by  associating  with  whom, 
his  external  appearance  was  much  improved.  He  got  better 
cloaths;  and  the  dark  colour,  from  which  he  never  deviated, 
was  enlivened  by  metal  buttons.  His  wigs,  too,  were  much 
better;  and  during  their  travels  in  France,  he  was  furnished 
with  a  Paris-made  wig,  of  handsome  construction.  This 
choosing  of  silver  buckles  was  a  negociation:  'Sir,  (said  he,) 
I  will  not  have  the  ridiculous  large  ones  now  in  fashion; 
and  I  will  give  no  more  than  a  guinea  for  a  pair.'  Such  were 
the  principles  of  the  business;  and,  after  some  examination, 
he  was  fitted.  As  we  drove  along,  I  found  him  in  a  talking 
humour,  of  which  I  availed  myself.  Boswell.  'I  was  this 
morning  in  Ridley's  shop,  Sir;  and  was  told,  that  the  collec- 
tion called  Johnsoniana  has  sold  very  much.'  Johnson. 
.'Yet  the  Journey  to  the  Hebrides  has  not  had  a  great  sale.' 
Boswell.  'That  is  strange.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir;  for 
in  that  book  I  have  told  the  world  a  great  deal  that  they 
did  not  know  before.' 

Boswell.     'I  drank  chocolate.   Sir,   this  morning  with 
Mr.  Eld;    and,  to  my  no  small  surprise,  found  him  to  be. 
.a  Staffordshire  Whig,  a  being  which  I  did  not  believe  had 
existed.'    Johnson.     'Sir,  there  are  rascals  in  all  countries.' 
3oswELL.     'Eld  said,  a  Tory  was  a  creature  generated  be- 


1778]  WINE  AND  TALK  399 

tween  a  non-juring  parson  and  one's  grandmother.'  John- 
son. 'And  I  have  always  said,  the  first  Whig  was  the  Devil.' 
BoswELL.  'He  certainly  was,  Sir.  The  Devil  was  impa- 
tient of  subordination;  he  was  the  first  who  resisted  power: — 

"Better  to  reign  in- Hell,  than  serve  in  Heaven." ' 

At  General  Paoli's  were  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Mr.  Lang- 
ton,  Marchese  Gherardi  of  Lombardy,  and  Mr.  John  Spottis- 
woode  the  younger,  of  Spottiswoode,  the  solicitor. 

We  talked  of  drinking  wine.  Johnson.  'I  require  wine, 
only  when  I  am  alone.  I  have  then  often  wished  for  it,  and 
often  taken  it.'  Spottiswoode.  'What,  by  way  of  a  com- 
panion. Sir?'  Johnson.  'To  get  rid  of  myself,  to  send 
myself  away.  Wine  gives  great  pleasure;  and  every  pleasure 
is  of  itself  a  good.  It  is  a  good,  unless  counterbalanced  by 
evil.  A  man  may  have  a  strong  reason  not  to  drink  wine; 
and  that  may  be  greater  than  the  pleasure.  Wine  makes  a 
man  better  pleased  with  himself.  I  do  not  say  that  it  makes 
him  more  pleasing  to  others.  Sometimes  it  does.  But  the 
danger  is,  that  while  a  man  grows  better  pleased  with  himself, 
he  may  be  growing  less  pleasing  to  others.  Wine  gives  a 
man  nothing.  It  neither  gives  him  knowledge  nor  wit;  it 
only  animates  a  man,  and  enables  him  to  bring  out  what  a 
dread  of  the  company  had  repressed.  It  only  puts  in  motion 
what  has  been  locked  up  in  frost.  But  this  may  be  good, 
or  it  maybe  bad.'  Spottiswoode.  'So,  Sir,  wine  is  a  key 
which  opens  a  box;  but  this  box  may  be  either  full  or  empty.' 
Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  conversation  is  the  key:  wine  is  a 
pick-lock,  which  forces  open  the  box  and  injures  it.  A  man 
should  cultivate  his  mind  so  as  to  have  that  confidence  and 
readiness  without  wine,  which  wine  gives.'  Boswell. 
'The  great  difficulty  of  resisting  wine  is  from  benevolence. 
For  instance,  a  good  worthy  man  asks  you  to  taste  his  wine, 
which  he  has  had  twenty  years  in  his  cellar.'  Johnson. 
'Sir,  all  this  notion  about  hnenevolence  arises  from  a  man's 
imagining  himself  to  be  of  more  importance  to  others,  than 
he  really  is.  They  don't  care  a  farthing  whether  he  drinks 
wine  or  not.'    Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.    'Yes,  they  do  for 


400  LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [i778 

the  time.'  Johnson.  'For  the  time! — If  they  care  this 
minute,  they  forget  it  the  next.  And  as  for  the  good  worthy 
man;  how  do  you  know  he  is  good  and  worthy?  No  good 
and  worthy  man  will  insist  upon  another  man's  drinking 
wine.  As  to  the  wine  twenty  years  in  the  cellar, — of  ten 
men,  three  say  this,  merely  because  they  must  say  something; 
— three  are  telling  a  lie,  when  they  say  they  have  had  the 
wine  twenty  years; — three  would  rather  save  the  wine; — 
one,  perhaps,  cares.  I  allow  it  is  something  to  please  one's 
company:  and  people  are  always  pleased  with  those  who 
partake  pleasure  with  them.  But  after  a  man  has  brought 
himself  to  relinquish  the  great  personal  pleasure  which  arises 
from  drinking  wine,  any  other  consideration  is  a  trifle.  To 
please  others  by  drinking  wine,  is  something  only,  if  there  be 
nothing  against  it.  I  should,  however,  be  sorry  to  offend 
worthy  men : — 

"Curst  be  the  verse,  how  well  so  e'er  it  flow, 
That  tends  to  make  one  worthy  man  my  foe."' 

BoswELL.  'Curst  be  the  spring,  the  water.'  Johnson. 
'But  let  us  consider  what  a  sad  thing  it  would  be,  if  we 
were  obliged  to  drink  or  do  any  thing  else  that  may  happen 
to  be  agreeable  to  the  company  where  we  are.'  Langton. 
'By  the  same  rule  you  must  join  with  a  gang  of  cut-purses.' 
Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir:  but  yet  we  must  do  justice  to  wine; 
we  must  allow  it  the  power  it  possesses.  To  make  a  man 
pleased  with  himself,  let  me  tell  you,  is  doing  a  very  great 
thing; 

"Si  patrice  volumus,  si  Nobis  vivere  cari."' 

I  was  at  this  time  myself  a  water-drinker,  upon  trial,  by 
Johnson's  recommendation.  Johnson.  '  Boswell  is  a  bolder 
combatant  than  Sir  Joshua:  he  argues  for  wine  without  the 
help  of  wine;  but  Sir  Joshua  with  it.'  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
'But  to  please  one's  company  is  a  strong  motive.'  Johnson. 
(who,  from  drinking  only  water,  supposed  every  body  who 
drank  wine  to  be  elevated,)  'I  won't  argue  any  more  with 
you,  Sir.    You  are  too  far  gone.'    Sir  Joshua.     'I  should 


17781  DRINKING  TO  PLEASE  OTHERS  401 

have  thought  so  indeed,  Sir,  had  I  made  such  a  si)eech  as 
you  have  now  done.'  Johnson,  (drawing  himself  in,  and, 
I  really  thought  blushing,)  'Nay,  don't  be  angry.  I  did  not 
mean  to  offend  you.'  Sir  Joshua.  'At  first  the  taste  of 
wine  was  disagreeable  to  me;  but  I  brought  myself  to  drink 
it,  that  I  might  be  like  other  people.  The  pleasure  of  drink- 
ing wine  is  so  connected  with  pleasing  your  company,  that 
altogether  there  is  something  of  social  goodness  in  it.'  John- 
son. 'Sir,  this  is  only  saying  the  same  thing  over  again.' 
Sir  Joshua.  'No,  this  is  new.'  Johnson.  'You  put  it 
in  new  words,  but  it  is  an  old  thought.  This  is  one  of  the 
disadvantages  of  wine.  It  makes  a  man  mistake  words  for 
thoughts.'  BoswELL.  'I  think  it  is  a  new  thought;  at 
least,  it  is  in  a  new  atlititde.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  it  is 
only  in  a  new  coat ;  or  an  old  coat  with  a  new  facing.  (Then 
laughing  heartily,)  It  is  the  old  dog  in  a  new  doublet. — An 
extraordinary  instance  however  may  occur  where  a  man's 
patron  will  do  nothing  for  him,  unless  he  will  drink:  there 
may  be  a  good  reason  for  drinking.' 

I  mentioned  a  nobleman,  who  I  believed  was  really  uneasy 
if  his  company  would  not  drink  hard.  Johnson.  'That 
is  from  having  had  people  about  him  whom  he  has  been  ac- 
customed to  command.'  Boswell.  'Supposing  I  should 
be  tSte-dr-tSte  with  him  at  table.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  there  is 
no  more  reason  for  your  drinking  with  him,  than  his  being 
sober  with  you.'  Boswell.  'Why,  that  is  true;  for  it 
would  do  him  less  hurt  to  be  sober,  than  it  would  do  me  to 
get  drunk.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir;  and  from  what  I  have 
heard  of  him,  one  would  not  wish  to  sacrifice  himself  to  such 
a  man.  If  he  must  always  have  somebody  to  drink  with  him, 
he  should  buy  a  slave,  and  then  he  would  be  sure  to  have  it. 
They  who  submit  to  drink  as  another  pleases,  make  them- 
selves his  slaves.'  Boswell.  'But,  Sir,  you  will  surely 
make  allowance  for  the  duty  of  hospitality,  A  gentleman 
who  loves  drinking,  comes  to  visit  me.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  a 
man  knows  whom  he  visits;  he  comes  to  the  table  of  a  sober 
man.'  Boswell.  'But,  Sir,  you  and  I  should  not  have 
been  so  well  received  in  the  Highlands  and  Hebrides,  if  I 
had  not  drunk  with  our  worthy  friends.     Had  I  drunk  water 


402  LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON     ,  ,.-         [m.^^ 

only  as  you  did,  they  would  not  have*been  so  cordial.'     John-/| 
SON.     'Sir  William  Temple  mentions   that  in  his  travels 
through  the  Netherlands  he  had  two  or  three  gentlemen  with 
him;   and  when  a  bumper  was  necessary,  he  put  it  on  them. 
Were  I  to  travel  again  through  the  islands,  I  would  have 
Sir  Joshua  with  me  to  take  the  bumpers.'     Boswell.     'But, 
Sir,  let  me  put  a  case.     Suppose  Sir  Joshua  should  take  a. 
jaunt  into  Scotland;   he  does  me  the  honour  to  pay  me  a,j 
visit  at  my  house  in  the  country;   I  am  overjoyed  at  seeing 
him;  we  are  quite  by  ourselves,  shall  I  unsociably  and  churl- 
ishly let  him  sit  drinking  by  himself?     No,  no,  my  dear  Sir 
Joshua,  you  shall  not  be  treated  so,  I  tuill  take  a  bottle 
with  you.' 

On  Wednesday,  April  29,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Allan 
Ramsay's,  where  were  Lord  Bihning,  Dr.  Robertson  the 
historian.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  the  Honourable  Mrs. 
Boscawen,  widow  of  the  Admiral,  and  mother  of  the  pres- 
ent Viscount  Falmouth;  of  whom,  if  it  be  not  presumj)- 
tuous  in  me  to  praise  her,  I  would  say,  that  her  manners 
are  the  most  agreeable,  and  her  conversation  the  best,  of 
any  lady  with  whom  I  ever  had  the  happiness  to  be  ac- 
quainted. Before  Johnson  came  we  talked  a  good  deal  of 
him;  Ramsay  said  he  had  always  found  him  a  very  polite 
man,  and  that  he  treated  him  with  great  respect,  which  he 
did  very  sincerely.  I  said  I  worshipped  him.  Robertson. 
'But  some  of  you  spoil  him;  you  should  not  worship  him; 
you  should  worship  no  man.'  Boswell.  'I  cannot  help 
worshipping  him,  he  is  so  much  superiour  to  other  men.' 
Robertson.  'In  criticism,  and  in  wit  in  conversation,  he 
is  no  doubt  very  excellent;  but  in  other  respects  he  is  not 
above  other  men;  he  will  believe  any  thing,  and  will  strenu- 
ously defend  the  most  minute  circumstance  connected  with 
the  Church  of  England.'  Boswell.  'Believe  me.  Doctor, 
you  are  much  mistaken  as  to  this;  for  when  you  talk  with 
him  calmly  in  private,  he  is  very  liberal  in  his  way  of  think- 
ing.' Robertson.  'He  and  I  have  been  always  very  gra- 
cious; the  first  time  I  met  him  was  one  evening  at  Strahan's, 
when  he  had  just  had  an  unlucky  altercation  with  Adam 
Smith,  to  whom  he  had  been  so  rough,  that  Strahan,  after 


1778]         ESTIMATION  OF  POPE'S  POETRY         403 

Smith  was  gone,  had  remonstrated  with  him,  and  told  him 
that  I  was  coming  soon,  and  that  he  was  uneasy  to  think' 
that  he  might  behave  in  the  same  manner  to  me.  "No, 
no,  Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  I  warrant  you  Robertson  and  I  shall 
do  very  well."  Accordingly  he  was  gentle  and  good-hum-' 
oured,  and  courteous  with  me  the  whole  evening;  and  he 
has  been  so  upon  every  occasion  that  we  have  met  since. 
I  have  often  said  (laughing,)  that  I  have  been  in  a  great 
measure  indebted  to  Smith  for  my  good  reception.'  Bos- 
well.  '  His  power  of  reasoning  is  very  strong,  and  he  has  a 
peculiar  art  of  drawing  characters,  which  is  as  rare  as  good 
portrait  painting.'  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  '  He  is  undoubt- 
edly adnairable  in  this;  but,  in  order  to  mark  the  characters 
which  he  draws,  he  overcharges  them,  and  gives  people  more 
than  they  really  have,  whether  of  good  or  bad.' 

No  sooner  did  he,  of  whom  we  had  been  thus  talking  so" 
easily,  arrive,  than  we  were  all  as  quiet  as  a  school  upon 
the  entrance  of  the  head-mast«r;    and  were  very  soon  set 
down  to  a  table  covered  with  such  variety  of  good  things, 
as  contributed  not  a  little  to  dispose  him  to  be  pleased. 

Ramsay.  'I  am  old  enough  to  have  been  a  contemporary 
of  Pope.  His  poetry  was  highly  admired  in  his  life-time, 
more  a  great  deal  than  after  his  death.'  Johnson.  'Sir, 
it  has  not  been  less  admired  since  his  death;  no  authours 
ever  had  so  much  fame  in  their  own  life-time  as  Pope  and 
Voltaire;  and  Pope's  poetry  has  been  as  much  admired 
since  his  death  as  during  his  life;  it  has  only  not  been  as 
much  talked  of,  but  that  is  owing  to  its  being  now  more 
distant,  and  people  having  other  writings  to  talk  of.  Virgil 
is  less  talked  of  than  Pope,  and  Homer  is  less  talked  of  than 
Virgil;  but  they  are  not  less  admired.  We  must  read  what 
the  world  reads  at  the  moment.  It  has  been  maintained 
that  this  superfoetation,  this  teeming  of  the  press  in  modem 
times,  is  prejudicial  to  good  literature,  because  it  obliges  us 
to  read  so  much  of  what  is  of  inferiour  value,  in  order  to  be 
in  the  fashion;  so  that  better  works  are  neglected  for  want 
of  time,  because  a  man  will  have  more  gratification  of  his 
vanity  in  conversation,  from  having  read  modern  books, 
than  from  having  read  the  best  works  of  antiquity.  But  it 


404  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

must  be  considered,  that  we  have  now  more  knowledge  gen- 
erally diffused;  all  our  ladies  read  now,  which  is  a  great  ex- 
tension. Modern,  writers  are  the  moons  of  literature;  they 
shine  with  reflected  light,  with  light  borrowed  from  the  an- 
cients. Greece  appears  to  me  to  be  the  fountain  of  knowl- 
edge; Rome  of  elegance.'  Ramsay.  'I  suppose  Homer's 
Iliad  to  be  a  collection  of  pieces  which  had  been  written 
before  his  time.  I  should  like  to  see  a  translation  of  it  in 
poetical  prose  like  the  book  of  Ruth  or  Job.'  Robertson. 
"Would  you.  Dr.  Johnson,  who  are  master  of  the  English 
language,  but  try  your  hand  upon  a  part  of  it.'  Johnson. 
"Sir,  you  could  not  read  it  without  the  pleasure  of  verse.' 

Dr.  Robertson  expatiated  on  the  character  of  a  certain 
nobleman;  that  he  was  one  of  the  strongest-minded  men 
that  ever  lived;  that  he  would  sit  in  company  quite  slug- 
gish, while  there  was  nothing  to  call  forth  his  intellectual 
vigour;  but  the  moment  that  any  important  subject  was 
started,  for  instance,  how  this  country  is  to  be  defended 
against  a  French  invasion,  he  would  rouse  himself,  and  shew 
his  extraordinary  talents  with  the  most  powerful  ability  and 
animation.  Johnson.  'Yet  this  man  cut  his  own  throat. 
The  true  strong  and  sound  mind  is  the  mind  that  can  em- 
brace equally  great  things  and  small.  Now  I  am  told  the 
King  of  Prussia  will  say  to  a  servant,  "Bring  me  a  bottle 
of  such  a  wine,  which  came  in  such  a  year;  it  lies  in  such  a 
■corner  of  the  cellars."  I  would  have  a  man  great  in  great 
things,  and  elegant  in  little  things.'  He  said  to  me  after- 
wards, when  we  were  by  ourselves,  'Robertson  was  in  a 
mighty  romantick  humour,  he  talked  of  one  whom  he  did 
not  know;  but  I  downed  him  with  the  King  of  Prussia.' 
'Yes,  Sir,  (said  I,)  you  threw  a  bottle  at  his  head.' 

An  ingenious  gentleman  was  mentioned,  concerning  whom 
l^oth  Robertson  and  Ramsay  agreed  that  he  had  a  constant 
firmness  of  mind;  for  after  a  laborious  day,  and  amidst  a 
multiplicity  of  cares  and  anxieties,  he  would  sit  down  with 
his  sisters  and  be  quite  cheerful  and  good-humoured.  Such 
a  disposition,  it  was  observed,  was  a  happy  gift  of  nature. 
Johnson.  'I  do  not  think  so;  a  man  has  from  nature  a 
certain  portion  of  mind;  the  use  he  makes  of  it  depends  upon 


17781  ON  OLD  AGE  405 

his  own  free  will.  That  a  man  has  always  the  same  firm- 
ness of  mind  I  do  not  say ;  because  every  man  feels  his  mind 
less  firm  at  one  time  than  another;  but  I  think  a  man's 
being  in  a  good  or  bad  humour  depends  upon  his  will.'  I, 
however,  could  not  help  thinking  that  a  man's  humour  is 
often  uncontroulable  by  his  will. 

Next  day,  Thursday,  April  30,  I  found  him  at  home  by 
himself.  Johnson.  'Well,  Sir,  Ramsay  gave  us  a  splendid 
dinner.  I  love  Ramsay.  You  will  not  find  a  man  in  whose 
conversation  there  is  more  instruction,  more  information^ 
and  more  elegance,  than  in  Ramsay's.'  Boswell.  'What 
I  admire  in  Ramsay,  is  his  continuing  to  be  so  young.' 
Johnson.  'Why,  yes.  Sir,  it  is  to  be  admired.  I  value 
myself  upon  this,  that  there  is  nothing  of  the  old  man  in 
my  conversation.  I  am  now  sixty-eight,  and  I  have  no 
more  of  it  than  at  twenty-eight.'  Boswell.  'But,  Sir, 
would  not  you  wish  to  know  old  age?  He  who  is  never  an 
old  man,  does  not  know  the  whole  of  human  life;  for  old 
age  is  one  of  the  divisions  of  it.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir, 
what  talk  is  this?'  Boswell.  'I  mean,  Sir,  the  Sphinx's 
description  of  it; — morning,  noon,  and  night.  I  would 
know  night,  as  well  as  morning  and  noon.'  Johnson. 
'What,  Sir,  would  you  know  what  it  is  to  feel  the  evils  of 
old  age?  Would  you  have  the  gout?  Would  you  have 
decrepitude?' — Seeing  him  heated,  I  would  not  argue  any 
farther;  but  I  was  confident  that  I  was  in  the  right.  I 
would,  in  due  time,  be  a  Nestor,  an  elder  of  the  people; 
and  there  should  be  some  difference  between  the  conversa- 
tion of  twenty-eight  and  sixty-eight.  A  grave  picture  should 
not  be  gay.  There  is  a  serene,  solemn,  placid  old  age. 
Johnson.  'Mrs.  Thrale's  mother  said  of  me  what  flattered 
me  much.  A  clergyman  was  complaining  of  want  of  society 
in  the  country  where  he  lived;  and  said,  "They  talk  of 
runts;"  (that  is,  young  cows).  "Sir,  (said  Mrs.  Salusbury,) 
Mr.  Johnson  would  learn  to  talk  of  runts:"  meaning  that  I 
was  a  man  who  would  make  the  most  of  my  situation,  what- 
ever it  was.'     He  added,  'I  think  myself  a  very  polite  man,' 

On  Saturday,  May  2,  I  dined  with  him  at  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds's,  where  there  was  a  very  large  company,  and  a 


406  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

great  deal  of  conversation;  but  owing  to  some  circumstance 
which  I  cannot  now  recollect,  I  have  no  record  of  any  part 
of  it,  except  that  there  were  several  people  there  by  no  means 
of  the  Johnsonian  school;  so  that  less  attention  was  paid 
to  him  than  usual,  which  put  him  out  of  humour;  and  upon 
some  imaginary  offence  from  me,  he  attacked  me  with  such 
rudeness,  that  I  was  vexed  and  angry,  because  it  gave  those 
persons  an  opportunity  of  enlarging  upon  his  supposed  feroc- 
ity, and  ill  treatment  of  his  best  friends.  I  was  so  much 
hurt,  and  had  my  pride  so  much  roused,  that  I  kept  away 
from  him  for  a  week;  and,  perhaps,  might  have  kept  away 
much  longer,  nay,  gone  to  Scotland  without  seeing  him  again, 
had  not  we  fortunately  met  and  been  reconciled.  To  such 
unhappy  chances  are  human  friendships  liable. 

On  Friday,  May  8,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Langton's. 
I  was  reserved  and  silent,  which  I  suppose  he  perceived, 
and  might  recollect  the  cause.  After  dinner  when  Mr. 
Langton  was  called  out  of  the  room,  and  we  were  by  our- 
selves, he  drew  his  chair  near  to  mine,  and  said,  in  a  tone 
of  conciliating  courtesy,  'Well,  how  have  you  done?'  Bos- 
well.  'Sir,  you  have  made  me  very  uneasy  by  your  be- 
haviour to  me  when  we  were  last  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's. 
You  know,  my  dear  Sir,  no  man  has  a  greater  respect  and 
affection  for  you,  or  would  sooner  go  to  the  end  of  the  world 
to  serve  you.  Now  to  treat  me  so — .'  He  insisted  that  I 
had  interrupted  him,  which  I  assured  him  was  not  the  case; 
And  proceeded — 'But  why  treat  me  so  before  people  who 
neither  love  you  nor  me?'  Johnson.  'Well,  I  am  sorry 
for  it.  I'll  make  it  up  to  you  twenty  different  ways,  as  you 
please.'  Boswell,  'I  said  to-day  to  Sir  Joshua,  when  he 
observed  that  you  tossed  me  sometimes — I  don't  care  how 
often,  or  how  high  he  tosses  me,  when  only  friends  are  pres- 
ent, for  then  I  fall  upon  soft  ground :  but  I  do  not  like  fall- 
ing on  stones,  which  is  the  case  when  enemies  are  present. — 
I  think  this  a  pretty  good  image.  Sir.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  it 
is  one  of  the  happiest  I  have  ever  heard.' 

The  truth  is,  there  was  no  venom  in  the  wounds  which 
he  inflicted  at  any  time,  unless  they  were  irritated  by  some 
mahgnant  infusion  by  other  hands.    We  were  instantly  as 


1778]  AT  THE  MITRE  407 

cordial  again  as  ever,  and  joined  in  hearty  laugh  at  some 
ludicrous  but  innocent  peculiarities  of  one  of  our  friends. 
BoswELL.  'Do  you  think,  Sir,  it  is  always  culpable  to  laugh 
at  a  man  to  his  face?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  that  depends 
upon  the  man  and  the  thing.  If  it  is  a  slight  man,  and  a 
slight  thing,  you  may;  for  you  take  nothing  valuable  from 
him.' 

When  Mr.  Langton  returned  to  us,  the  'flow  of  talk' 
went  on.  An  eminent  authour  being  mentioned; — Johnson. 
'He  is  not  a  pleasant  man.  His  conversation  is  neither  in- 
structive nor  brilUant.  He  does  not  talk  as  if  impelled  by 
any  fulness  of  knowledge  or  vivacity  of  imagination.  His 
conversation  is  like  that  of  any  other  sensible  man.  He  talks 
with  no  wish  either  to  inform  or  to  hear,  but  only  because  he 

thinks  it  does  not  become to  sit  in  a  company 

and  say  nothing.' 

Mr.  Langton  having  repeated  the  anecdote  of  Addison 
having  distinguished  between  his  powers  in  conversation 
and  in  writing,  by  saying  'I  have  only  nine-pence  in  my 
pocket;  but  I  can  draw  for  a  thousand  pounds;' — John- 
son. 'He  had  not  that  retort  ready,  Sir;  he  had  prepared 
it  before-hand.'  Langton.  (turning  to  me,)  'A  fine  surmise. 
Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief.' 

Johnson.  *I  shall  be  at  home  to-morrow.'  Boswell. 
'Then  let  us  dine  by  ourselves  at  the  Mitre,  to  keep  up  the 
old  custom,  "the  custom  of  the  manor,"  the  custom  of  the 
mitre.'    Johnson.    'Sir,  so  it  shall  be.' 

On  Saturday,  May  9,  we  fulfilled  our  purpose  of  dining 
by  ourselves  at  the  Mitre,  according  to  old  custom.  There 
was,  on  these  occasions,  a  Uttle  circumstance  of  kind  atten- 
tion to  Mrs.  Williams,  which  must  not  be  omitted.  Before 
coming  out,  and  leaving  her  to  dine  alone,  he  gave  her  her 
choice  of  a  chicken,  a  sweetbread,  or  any  other  little  nice 
thing,  which  was  carefully  sent  to  her  from  the  tavern, 
ready-drest. 

On  Tuesday,  May  12, 1  waited  on  the  Earl  of  Marchmont, 
to  know  if  his  Lordship  would  favour  Dr.  Johnson  with  in- 
formation concerning  Pope,  whose  Life  he  was  about  to  write. 
Johnson  had  not  flattered  himself  with  the  hopes  of  receiving 


LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [1778 

any  civility  from  this  nobleman;  for  he  said  to  me,  when  I 
mentioned  Lord  Marchmont  as  one  who  could  tell  him  a 
great  deal  about  Pope, — 'Sir,  he  will  tell  me  nothing.'  I 
had  the  honour  of  being  known  to  his  Lordship,  and  applied 
to  him  of  myself,  without  being  commissioned  by  Johnson. 
His  Lordship  behaved  in  the  most  polite  and  obliging  manner, 
promised  to  tell  all  he  recollected  about  Pope,  and  was  so 
very  courteous  as  to  say,  'Tell  Dr.  Johnson  I  have  a  great 
respect  for  him,  and  am  ready  to  shew  it  in  any  way  I  can. 
I  am  to  be  in  the  city  to-morrow,  and  will  call  at  his  house 
as  I  return.'  His  Lordship  however  asked,  'Will  he  write 
the  Lives  of  the  Poets  impartially?  He  was  the  first  that 
brought  Whig  and  Tory  into  a  Dictionary.  And  what  do 
you  think  of  his  definition  of  Excise  ?  Do  you  know  the  his- 
tory of  his  aversion  to  the  word  transpire  ? '  Then  taking 
down  the  folio  Dictionary,  he  shewed  it  with  this  censure 
on  its  secondary  sense:  '"To  escape  from  secrecy  to  notice; 
a  sense  lately  innovated  from  France,  without  necessity." 
The  truth  was  Lord  Bolingbroke,  who  left  the  Jacobites, 
first  used  it;  therefore,  it  was  to  be  condemned.  He  should 
have  shewn  what  word  would  do  for  it,  if  it  was  unnecessary.' 
I  afterwards  put  the  question  to  Johnson:  'Why,  Sir,  (said 
he,)  get  abroad.'  Boswell.  'That,  Sir,  is  using  two  words.' 
Johnson.  'Sir,  there  is  no  end  of  this.  You  may  as  well 
insist  to  have  a  word  for  old  age.'  Boswell.  'Well,  Sir, 
Senectus.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  to  insist  always  that  there 
should  be  one  word  to  express  a  thing  in  English,  because 
there  is  one  in  another  language,  is  to  change  the  language.' 

I  proposed  to  Lord  Marchmont  that  he  should  revise 
Johnson's  Life  of  Pope:  'So  (said  his  Lordship,)  you  would 
put  me  in  a  dangerous  situation.  You  know  he  knocked 
down  Osborne  the  bookseller.' 

Elated  with  the  success  of  my  spontaneous  exertion  to 
procure  material  and  respectable  aid  to  Johnson  for  his  very 
favourite  work,  The  Lives  of  the  Poets,  I  hastened  down  to 
Mr.  Thrale's  at  Streatham,  where  he  now  was,  that  I  might 
insure  his  being  at  home  next  day;  and  after  dinner,  when 
I  thought  he  would  receive  the  good  news  in  the  best  humour, 
I  announced  it  eagerly :  '  I  have  been  at  work  for  you  to-day, 


1778]       JOHNSON  AND  LORD  MARCHMONT       409 

Sir.  I  have  been  with  Lord  Marchmont.  He  bade  me  tell 
you  he  has  a  great  respect  for  you,  and  will  call  on  you 
to-morrow  at  one  o'clock,  and  communicate  all  he  knows 
about  Pope.' — Here  I  paused,  in  full  expectation  that  he 
would  be  pleased  with  this  intelligence,  would  praise  my 
active  merit,  aiid  would  be  alert  to  embrace  such  an  offer 
from  a  nobleman.  But  whether  I  had  shewn  an  over-exulta- 
tion, which  provoked  his  spleen;  or  whether  he  was  seized 
with  a  suspicion  that  I  had  obtruded  him  on  Lord  March- 
mont, and  humbled  him  too  much;  or  whether  there  was  any 
thing  more  than  an  unlucky  fit  of  ill-humour,  I  know  not; 
but,  to  my  surprize,  the  result  was, — ^Johnson.  '  I  shall  not 
be  in  town  to-morrow.  I  don't  care  to  know  about  Pope.' 
Mrs.  Thrale.  (surprized  as  I  was,  and  a  Uttle  angry,)  'I 
suppose.  Sir,  Mr.  Boswell  thought,  that  as  you  are  to  write 
Pope's  Life,  you  would  wish  to  know  about  him.'  John- 
son. 'Wish!  why  yes.  If  it  rained  knowledge  I'd  hold  out 
my  hand;  but  I  would  not  give  myself  the  trouble  to  go  in 
quest  of  it.'  There  was  no  arguing  with  him  at  the  moment. 
Some  time  afterwards  he  said,  'Lord  Marchmont  will  call 
on  me,  and  then  I  shall  call  on  Lord  Marchmont.'  Mr. 
Thrale  was  uneasy  at  his  unaccountable  caprice;  and  told 
me,  that  if  I  did  not  take  care  to  bring  about  a  meeting 
between  Lord  Marchmont  and  him,  it  would  never  take 
place,  which  would  be  a  great  pity.  I  sent  a  card  to  his 
Lordship,  to  be  left  at  Johnson's  house,  acquainting  him, 
that  Dr.  Johnson  could  not  be  in  town  next  day,  but  would 
do  himself  the  honour  of  waiting  on  him  at  another  time.  I 
give  this  account  fairly,  as  a  specimen  of  that  unhappy  tem- 
per with  which  this  great  and  good  man  had  occasionally 
to  struggle,  from  something  morbid  in  his  constitution.  Let 
the  most  censorious  of  my  readers  suppose  himself  to  have  a 
violent  fit  of  the  tooth-aeh,  or  to  have  received  a  severe 
stroke  on  the  shin-bone,  and  when  in  such  a  state  to  be  asked 
a  question ;  and  if  he  has  any  candour,  he  will  not  be  sur- 
prized at  the  answers  which  Johnson  sometimes  gave  in  mo- 
ments of  irritation,  which,  let  me  assure  them,  is  exquisitely 
painful.  But  it  must  not  be  erroneously  supposed  that  he 
was,  in  the  smallest  degree,  careless  concerning  any  work 


410  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1778 

which  he  undertook,  or  that  he  was  generally  thus  peevish. 
It  will  be  seen,  that  in  the  following  year  he  had  a  very 
agreeable  interview  with  Lord  Marchmont,  at  his  Lordship's 
house;  and  this  very  afternoon  he  soon  forgot  any  fretful- 
ness,  and  fell  into  conversation  as  usual. 

Johnson.  '  How  foolish  was  it  in  Pope  to  give  all  his  friend- 
ship to  Ix)rds,  who  thought  they  honoured  him  by  being  with 
him;  and  to  choose  such  Lords  as  Burlington,  and  Cobham, 
and  Bolingbroke!  Bathurst  was  negative,  a  pleasing  man; 
and  I  have  heard  no  ill  of  Marchmont;  and  then  always 
saying,  "I  do  not  value  you  for  being  a  Lord;"  which  was  a 
sure  proof  that  he  did.  I  never  say,  I  do  not  value  Boswell 
more  for  being  born  to  an  estate,  because  I  do  not  care.' 
Boswell.  'Nor  for  being  a  Scotchman?'  Johnson.  'Nay, 
Sir,  I  do  value  you  more  for  being  a  Scotchman.  You  are  a 
Scotchman  without  the  faults  of  a  Scotchman.  You  would 
not  have  been  so  valuable  as  you  are,  had  you  not  been  a 
Scotchman.' 

Amongst  the  numerous  prints  pasted  on  the  walls  of  the 
dining-room  at  Streatham,  was  Hogarth's  'Modern  Mid- 
night Conversation.'  I  asked  him  what  he  knew  of  Parson 
Ford,  who  makes  a  conspicuous  figure  in  the  riotous  group. 
Johnson.  'Sir,  he  was  my  acquaintance  and  relation,  my 
mother's  nephew.  He  had  purchased  a  living  in  the  country, 
but  not  simoniacally.  I  never  saw  him  but  in  the  country. 
I  have  been  told  he  was  a  man  of  great  parts;  very  prof- 
ligate, but  I  never  heard  he  was  impious.'  Boswell. 
'Was  there  not  a  story  of  his  ghost  having  appeared?' 
Johnson.  'Sir,  it  was  believed.  A  waiter  at  the  Hum- 
mums,  in  which  house  Ford  died,  had  been  absent  for  some 
time,  and  returned,  not  knowing  that  Ford  was  dead. 
Going  down  to  the  cellar,  according  to  the  story,  he  met 
him;  going  down  again  he  met  him  a  second  time.  When 
he  came  up,  he  asked  some  of  the  people  of  the  house  what 
Ford  could  be  doing  there.  They  told  him  Ford  was  dead. 
The  waiter  took  a  fever,  in  which  he  lay  for  some  time. 
When  he  recovered,  he  said  he  had  a  message  to  deliver  to 
some  women  from  Ford;  but  he  was  not  to  tell  what,  or  to 
whom.    He  walked  out;   he  was  followed;   but  somewhere 


1778]  STUDY  AND  TRAVEL  411 

about  St.  Paul's  they  lost  him.  He  came  back,  and  said 
he  had  delivered  the  message,  and  the  women  exclaimed, 
"Then  we  are  all  undone!"  Dr.  Pellet,  who  was  not  a 
credulous  man,  inquired  into  the  truth  of  this  story,  and  he 
said,  the  evidence  was  irresistible.  My  wife  went  to  the 
Hummums;  (it  is  a  place  where  people  get  themselves  cupped.) 
I  believe  she  went  with  intention  to  hear  about  this  story  of 
Ford.  At  first  they  were  unwilling  to  tell  her;  but,  after 
they  had  talked  to  her,  she  came  away  satisfied  that  it  was 
true.  To  be  sure  the  man  had  a  fever;  and  this  vision  may 
have  been  the  beginning  of  it.  But  if  the  message  to  the 
women,  and  their  behaviour  upon  it,  were  true  as  related, 
there  was  something  supernatural.  That  rests  upon  his 
word;  and  there  it  remains.' 

I  staid  all  this  day^  with  him  at  Streatham.  He  talked 
a  great  deal,  in  very  good  humour. 

Looking  at  Messrs.  Dilly's  splendid  edition  of  Lord  Ches- 
terfield's miscellaneous  works,  he  laughed,  and  said,  'Here 
now  are  two  speeches  ascribed  to  him,  both  of  which  were 
written  by  me:  and  the  best  of  it  is,  they  have  found  out 
that  one  is  like  Demosthenes,  and  the  other  like  Cicero/ 

BoswELL.  'Is  not  modesty  natural?'  Johnson.  'I 
cannot  say.  Sir,  as  we  find  no  people  quite  in  a  state  of 
nature;  but  I  think  the  more  they  are  taught,  the  more 
modest  they  are.  The  French  are  a  gross,  ill-bred,  untaught 
people;  a  lady  there  will  spit  on  the  floor  and  rub  it  with 
her  foot.  What  I  gained  by  being  in  France  was,  learning 
to  be  better  satisfied  with  my  own  country.  Time  may  be 
employed  to  more  advantage  from  nineteen  to  twenty-four 
almost  in  any  way  than  in  travelling;  when  you  set  travel- 
ling against  mere  negation,  against  doing  nothing,  it  is  better 
to  be  sure;  but  how  much  more  would  a  young  man  improve 
were  he  to  study  during  those  years.  Indeed,  if  a  young  maa 
is  wild,  and  must  run  after  women  and  bad  company,  it  is 
better  this  should  be  done  abroad,  as,  on  his  return,  he  can 
break  off  such  connections,  and  begin  at  home  a  new  man, 
with  a  character  to  form,  and  acquaintances  to  make.  How 
little  does  travelling  supply  to  the  conversation  of  any  man 
'  Wednesday,  May  13. — Ed. 


412  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

who  has  travelled;    how  little  to  Beauclerk!'     Boswell. 

'  What  say  you  to  Lord ? '    Johnson.     '  I  never  but  once 

heard  him  talk  of  what  he  had  seen,  and  that  was  of  a  large 
serpent  in  one  of  the  Pyramids  of  Egypt.'  Boswell.  '  Well, 
I  happened  to  hear  him  tell  the  same  thing,  which  made  me 
mention  him.' 

I  talked  of  a  country  life.  Johnson.  'Were  I  to  hve  in 
the  country,  I  would  not  devote  myself  to  the  acquisition  of 
popularity;  I  would  Uve  in  a  much  better  way,  much  more 
happily;  I  would  have  my  time  at  my  own  command.' 
Boswell.  '  But,  Sir,  is  it  not  a  sad  thing  to  be  at  a  distance 
from  all  our  literary  friends?'  Johnson'.  'Sir,  you  will  by 
and  by  have  enough  of  this  conversation,  which  now  deUghts 
you  so  much.' 

As  he  was  a  zealous  friend  of  subordination,  he  was  at  all 
times  watchful  to  repress  the  vulgar  cant  against  the  man- 
ners of  the  great;  'High  people.  Sir,  (said  he,)  are  the  best; 
take  a  hundred  ladies  of  quality,  you'll  find  them  better 
wives,  better  mothers,  more  willing  to  sacrifice  their  own 
pleasure  to  their  children  than  a  hundred  other  women. 
Tradeswomen  (I  mean  the  wives  of  tradesmen)  in  the  city, 
who  are  worth  from  ten  to  fifteen  thousand  pounds,  are  the 
worst  creatures  upon  the  earth,  grossly  ignorant,  and  think- 
ing viciousness  fashionable.  Farmers,  I  think,  are  often 
worthless  fellows.  Few  lords  will  cheat;  and,  if  they  do, 
they'll  be  ashamed  of  it:  farmers  cheat  and  are  not  ashamed 
of  it:  they  have  all  the  sensual  vices  too  of  the  nobility, 
with  cheating  into  the  bargain.  There  is  as  much  fornica- 
tion and  adultery  among  farmers  as  amongst  noblemen.' 
Boswell.  'The  notion  of  the  world,  Sir,  however  is,  that 
the  morals  of  women  of  quality  are  worse  than  those  in  lower 
stations.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  the  licentiousness  of  one 
woman  of  quality  makes  more  noise  than  that  of  a  number 
of  women  in  lower  stations;  then,  Sir,  you  are  to  consider 
the  malignity  of  women  in  the  city  against  women  of  quality, 
which  will  make  them  believe  any  thing  of  them,  such  as 
that  they  call  their  coachmen  to  bed.  No,  Sir,  so  far  as  I 
have  observed,  the  higher  in  rank,  the  richer  ladies  are,  they 
are  the  better  instructed  and  the  more  virtuous.' 


1778]  JOHNSON  AT  WARLEY-CAMP  413 

On  Tuesday,  May  19,  I  was  to  set  out  for  Scotland  in  the 
evening.  He  was  engaged  to  dine  with  me  at  Mr.  Dilly's, 
I  waited  upon  him  to  remind  him  of  his  appointment  and 
attend  him  thither;  he  gave  me  some  salutary  counsel,  and 
recommended  vigorous  resol.ution  against  any  deviation 
from  moral  duty.  Boswell.  '  But  you  would  not  have  me 
to  bind  myself  by  a  solemn  obligation?'  Johnson,  (much 
agitated,)  'What!  a  vow — O,  no,  Sir,  a  vow  is  a  horrible 
thing,  it  is  a  snare  for  sin.  The  man  who  cannot  go  to 
Heaven  without  a  vow — may  go — '  Here,  standing  erect, 
in  the  middle  of  his  library,  and  rolling  grand,  his  pause  was 
truly  a  curious  compound  of  the  solemn  and  the  ludicrous; 
he  half-whistled  in  his  usual  way,  when  pleasant,  and  he 
paused,  as  if  checked  by  religious  awe.  Methought  he  would 
have  added — to  Hell — but  was  restrained.  I  humoured  the 
dilemma.  'What!  Sir,  (said  I,)  In  caelum  jusseris  ibitf 
alluding  to  his  imitation  of  it, — 

'  And  bid  him  go  to  Hell,  to  Hell  he  goes.' 

We  had  a  quiet  comfortable  meeting  at  Mr.  Dilly's;  no- 
body there  but  ourselves.  My  illustrious  friend  and  I  parted 
"jvith  assurances  of  affectionate  regard. 

Mr.  Langton  has  been  pleased,  at  my  request,  to  favour  me 
with  some  particulars  of  Dr.  Johnson's  visit  to  Warley-camp, 
where  this  gentleman  was  at  the  time  stationed  as  a  Captain 
in  the  Lincolnshire  militia.  I  shall  give  them  in  his  own 
words  in  a  letter  to  me. 

'  It  was  in  the  summer  of  the  year  1778,  that  he  complied 
with  my  invitation  to  come  down  to  the  Camp  at  Warley, 
and  he  staid  with  me  about  a  week;  the  scene  appeared, 
notwithstanding  a  great  degree  of  ill  health  that  he  seemed 
to  labour  under,  to  interest  and  amuse  him,  as  agreeing  with 
the  disposition  that  I  believe  you  know  he  constantly  mani- 
fested towards  enquiring  into  subjects  of  the  military  kind. 
He  sate,  with  a  patient  degree  of  attention,  to  observe  the 
proceedings  of  a  regimental  court-martial,  that  happened  to 
be  called,  in  the  time  of  his  stay  with  us;  and  one  night,  as 
late  as  at  eleven  o'clock,  he  accompanied  the  Major  of  the 


414  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i778 

regiment  in  going  what  are  styled  the  Rounds,  where  he 
might  observe  the  forms  of  visiting  the  guards,  for  the  seeing 
that  they  and  their  sentries  are  ready  in  their  duty  on  their 
several  posts.  He  took  occasion  to  converse  at  times  on 
military  topicks,  one  in  particular,  that  I  see  the  mention  of, 
in  your  Journal  of  a  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,  which  lies  open 
before  me,  as  to  gun-powder;  which  he  spoke  of  to  the  same 
effect,  in  part,  that  you  relate. 

'On  one  occasion,  when  the  regiment  were  going  through 
their  exercise,  he  went  quite  close  to  the  men  at  one  of  the 
extremities  of  it,  and  watched  all  their  practices  attentively; 
and,  when  he  came  away,  his  remark  was,  "The  men  indeed 
do  load  their  muskets  and  fire  with  wonderful  celerity."  He 
was  likewise  particular  in  requiring  to  know  what  was  the 
weight  of  the  musquet  balls  in  use,  and  within  what  distance 
they  might  be  expected  to  take  effect  when  fired  off. 

'In  walking  among  the  tents,  and  observing  the  difference 
between  those  of  the  officers  and  private  men,  he  said  that 
the  superiority  of  accommodation  of  the  better  conditions  of 
life,  to  that  of  the  inferiour  ones,  was  never  exhibited  to  him 
in  so  distinct  a  view.  The  civilities  paid  to  him  in  the  camp 
were,  from  the  gentlemen  of  the  Lincolnshire  regiment,  one 
of  the  officers  of  which  accommodated  him  with  a  tent  in. 
which  he  slept;  and  from  General  Hall,  who  very  cour- 
teously invited  him  to  dine  with  him,  where  he  appeared  to 
be  very  well  pleased  with  his  entertainment,  and  the  civilities 
he  received  on  the  part  of  the  General;  the  attention  like- 
wise, of  the  General's  aide-de-camp.  Captain  Smith,  seemed 
to  be  very  welcome  to  him,  as  appeared  by  their  engaging  ia 
a  great  deal  of  discourse  together.' 

We  surely  cannot  but  admire  the  benevolent  exertions  of 
this  great  and  good  man,  especially  when  we  consider  how 
grievously  he  was  afflicted  with  bad  health,  and  how  uncom- 
fortable his  home  was  made  by  the  perpetual  jarring  of  those 
whom  he  charitably  accommodated  under  his  roof.  He  has 
sometimes  suffered  me  to  talk  jocularly  of  his  group  of 
females,  and  call  them  his  Seraglio.  He  thus  mentions  them, 
together  with  honest  Levett,  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Mrs. 
Thrale:   'Williams  hates  every  body;  Levett  hates  Desmou- 


1779]         PART  OF  THE  LIVES  PUBLISHED         415 

lins,  and  does  not  love  Williams;  Desmoulins  hates  them 
both;  Poll  1  loves  none  of  them.'  ^ 

In  1779,  Johnson  gave  the  world  a  luminous  proof  that  the 
vigour  of  his  mind  in  all  its  faculties,  whether  memory, 
judgement,  or  imagination,  was  not  in  the  least  abated;  for 
this  year  came  out  the  first  four  volumes  of  his  Prefaces, 
biographical  and  critical,  to  the  most  eminent  of  the  English 
Poets,  published  by  the  booksellers  of  London.  The  re- 
maining volumes  came  out  in  the  year  1780.  The  Poets 
were  selected  by  the  several  booksellers  who  had  the  honor- 
ary copy  right,  which  is  still  preserved  among  them  by 
mutual  compact,  notwithstanding  the  decision  of  the  House 
of  Lords  against  the  perpetuity  of  Literary  Property.  We 
have  his  own  authority,  that  by  his  recommendation  the 
poems  of  Blackmore,  Watts,  Pomfret,  and  Yalden,  were 
added  to  the  collection. 

On  the  22nd  of  January,  I  wrote  to  him  on  several  topicks, 
and  mentioned  that  as  he  had  been  so  good  as  to  permit  me 
to  have  the  proof  sheets  of  his  Lives  of  the  Poets,  I  had  written 
to  his  servant*  Francis,  to  take  care  of  them  for  me. 

On  the  23rd  of  February  I  wrote  to  him  again,  complaining 
of  his  silence,  as  I  had  heard  he  was  ill,  and  had  written  to 
Mr.  Thrale,  for  information  concerning  him;  and  I  an- 
nounced my  intention  of  soon  being  again  in  London. 

'To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

'Dear  Sir, — Why  should  you  take  such  delight  to  make 
a  bustle,  to  write  to  Mr.  Thrale  that  I  am  negligent,  and  to 
Francis  to  do  what  is  so  very  unnecessary.  Thrale,  you  may 
be  sure,  cared  not  about  it;  and  I  shall  spare  Francis  the 
trouble,  by  ordering  a  set  both  of  the  Lives  and  Poets  to 
dear  Mrs.  Boswell,'  in  acknowledgement  of  her  marmalade. 
Persuade  her  to  accept  them,  and  accept  them  kindly.  If 
I  thought  she  would  receive  them  scornfully,  I  would  send 

>  Miss  Carmichael. 

2  A  year  later  he  wrote :  '  At  Bolt-court  there  is  much  malignity, 
but  of  late  little  open  hostiUty.' — Ed. 

5  He  sent  a  set  elegantly  bound  and  gilt,  which  was  received  as  a  very 
handsome  present. — Boswell. 


416  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  I1779 

them  to  Miss  Boswell,  who,  I  hope,  has  yet  none  of  her 

mamma's  ill-will  to  me.  .  .  . 

'  Mrs.  Thrale  waits  in  the  coach.     I  am,  dear  Sir,  &c., 
'March  13,  1779.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

This  letter  crossed  me  on  the  road  to  London,  where  I 
arrived  on  Monday,  March  15,  and  next  morning  at  a  late 
hour,  found  Dr.  Johnson  sitting  over  his  tea,  attended  by 
Mrs.  Desmoulins,  Mr.  Levett,  and  a  clergyman,  who  had 
come  to  submit  some  poetical  pieces  to  his  revision.  It  is 
wonderful  what  a  number  and  variety  of  writers,  some  of 
them  even  unknown  to  him,  prevailed  on  his  good-nature  to 
look  over  their  works,  and  suggest  corrections  and  improve- 
ments. My  arrival  interrupted  for  a  little  while  the  impor- 
tant business  of  this  true  representative  of  Bayes;  upon  its 
being  resumed,  I  found  that  the  subject  under  immediate 
consideration  was  a  tanslation,  yet  in  manuscript,  of  the 
Carmen  Secvlare  of  Horace,  which  had  this  year  been  set  to 
musick,  and  performed  as  a  publick  entertainment  in  Lon- 
don, for  the  joint  benefit  of  Monsieur  PhiUdo'r  and  Signor 
Baretti.  When  Johnson  had  done  reading,  the  authour 
asked  him  bluntly,  'If  upon  the  whole  it  was  a  good  trans- 
lation?' Johnson,  whose  regard  for  truth  was  uncommonly 
strict,  seemed  to  be  puzzled  for  a  moment,  what  answer  to 
make;  as  he  certainly  could  not  honestly  commend  the  per- 
formance: with  exquisite  address  he  evaded  the  question 
thus,  '  Sir,  I  do  not  say  that  it  may  not  be  made  a  very  good 
translation.'  Here  nothing  whatever  in  favour  of  the  per- 
formance was  affirmed,  and  yet  the  writer  was  not  shocked. 
A  printed  Ode  to  the  Warlike  Genius  of  Britain,  came  next  in 
review;  the  bard  was  a  lank  bony  figure,  with  short  black 
hair;  he  was  writhing  himself  in  agitation,  while  Johnson 
read,  and  shewing  his  teeth  in  a  grin  of  earnestness,  exclaimed 
in  broken  sentences,  and  in  a  keen  sharp  tone,  'Is  that 
poetry.  Sir? — Is  it  Pindar  f  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  there 
is  here  a  great  deal  of  what  is  called  poetry.'  Then,  turning 
to  me,  the  poet  cried,  'My  muse  has  not  been  long  upon  the 
town,  and  (pointing  to  the  Ode)  it  trembles  under  the  hand 
of  the  great  critick.'    Johnson,  in  a  tone  of  displeasure,  asked 


1779]  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD  417 

him,  'Why  do  you  praise  Anson?'  I  did  not  trouble  him  by 
asking  his  reason  for  this  question.  He  proceeded,  'Here 
is  an  errour.  Sir;  you  have  made  Genius  feminine.'  'Pal- 
pable, Sir;  (cried  the  enthusiast,)  I  know  it.  But  (in  a  lower 
tone,)  it  was  to  pay  a  compliment  to  the  Duchess  of  Devon- 
shire, with  which  her  Grace  was  pleased.  She  is  walking 
across  Coxheath,  in  the  military  uniform,  and  I  suppose 
her  to  be  the  Genius  of  Britain.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  you  are 
giving  a  reason  for  it;  but  that  will  not  make  it  right.  You 
may  have  a  reason  why  two  and  two  should  make  five;  but 
they  will  still  make  but  four.' 

Although  I  was  several  times  with  him  in  the  course  of  the 
following  days,  such  it  seems  were  my  occupations,  or  such 
my  negligence,  that  I  have  preserved  no  memorial  of  his 
conversation  till  Friday,  March  26,  when  I  visited  him.  He 
said  he  expected  to  be  attacked  on  account  of  his  Lives  of  the 
Poets.  'However  (said  he,)  I  would  rather  be  attacked  than 
unnoticed.  For  the  worst  thing  you  can  do  to  an  authour  is 
to  be  silent  as  to  his  works.  An  assault  upon  a  town  is  a  bad 
thing;  but  starving  it  is  still  worse;  an  assault  may  be  un- 
successful; you  may  have  more  men  killed  than  you  kill; 
but  if  you  starve  the  town,  you  are  sure  of  victory.' 

Talking  of  a  friend  of  ours  associating  with  persons  of  very 
discordant  principles  and  characters;  I  said  he  was  a  very 
universal  man,  quite  a  man  of  the  world.  Johnson.  'Yes, 
Sir;  but  one  may  be  so  much  a  man  of  the  world  as  to  be 
nothing  in  the  world.  I  remember  a  passage  in  Goldsmith's 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,  which  he  was  afterwards  fool  enough  to 
expunge:  "I  do  not  love  a  man  who  is  zealous  for  nothing."' 
BoswELL.  'That  was  a  fine  passage.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir: 
there  was  another  fine  passage  too,  which  he  struck  out: 
"When  I  was  a  young  man,  being  anxious  to  distinguish 
myself,  I  was  perpetually  starting  new  propositions.  But 
I  soon  gave  this  over;  for,  I  found  that  generally  what  was 
new  was  false."'  I  said  I  did  not  like  to  sit  with  people  of 
whom  I  had  not  a  good  opinion.  Johnson.  'But  you 
must  not  indulge  your  delicacy  too  much;  or  you  will  be  a 
t^te-a-tUe  man  all  your  life.' 

During  my  stay  in  London  this  spring,  I  find  I  was  unac- 


418  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1779 

countably  negligent  in  preserving  Johnson's  sayings,  more 
so  than  at  any  time  when  I  was  happy  enough  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  hearing  his  wisdom  and  wit.  There  is  no 
help  for  it  now.  I  must  content  myself  with  presenting  such 
scraps  as  I  have.  But  I  am  nevertheless  ashamed  and 
vexed  to  think  how  much  has  been  lost.  It  is  not  that  there 
was  a  bad  crop  this  year;  but  that  I  was  not  sufficientlj^ 
careful  in  gathering  it  in.  I,  therefore,  in  some  instances 
can  only  exhibit  a  few  detached  fragments. 

Talking  of  the  wonderful  concealment  of  the  authour  of 
the  celebrated  letters  signed  Junius ;  he  said,  '  I  should  have 
believed  Burke  to  be  Junius,  because  I  know  no  man  but 
Burke  who  is  capable  of  writing  these  letters;  but  Burke 
spontaneously  denied  it  to  me.  The  case  would  have  been 
different  had  I  asked  him  if  he  was  the  authour;  a  man  so 
questioned,  as  to  an  anonymous  publication,  may  think  he 
has  a  right  to  deny  it.' 

On  Wednesday,  March  31,  when  I  visited  him,  and  con- 
fessed an  excess  of  which  I  had  very  seldom  been  guilty; 
that  I  had  spent  a  whole  night  in  playing  at  cards,  and  that 
I  could  not  look  back  on  it  with  satisfaction;  instead  of 
a  harsh  animadversion,  he  mildly  said,  'Alas,  Sir,  on  how 
few  things  can  we  look  back  with  satisfaction.' 

On  Friday,  April  2,  being  Good-Friday,  I  visited  him  in 
the  morning  as  usual;  and  finding  that  we  insensibly ' fell 
into  a  train  of  ridicule  upon  the  foibles  of  one  of  our  friends, 
a,  very  worthy  man,  I,  by  way  of  a  check,  quoted  some  good 
admonition  from  The  Government  of  the  Tongue,  that  very 
pious  book.  It  happened  also  remarkably  enough,  that  the 
subject  of  the  sermon  preached  to  us  to-day  by  Dr.  Burrows, 
the  rector  of  St.  Clement  Danes,  was  the  certainty  that  at 
the  last  day  we  must  give  an  account  of  'the  deeds  done  in 
the  body;'  and,  amongst  various  acts  of  culpability  he 
mentioned  evil-speaking.  As  we  were  moving  slowly  along 
in  the  crowd  from  church,  Johnson  jogged  my  elbow,  and 
said,  'Did  you  attend  to  the  sermon?'  'Yes,  Sir,  (said  I,)  it 
was  very  applicable  to  us:'  He,  however,  stood  upon  the 
defensive.  'Why,  Sir,  the  sense  of  ridicule  is  given  us,  and 
may  be  lawfully  used.  The  authour  of  The  Government  of 
the  Tongue  would  have  us  treat  all  men  alike.' 


1779]  BRANDY  FOR  HEROES  419 

In  the  interval  between  morning  and  evening  service,  he 
endeavoured  to  employ  himself  earnestly  in  devotional  ex- 
ercises; and  as  he  has  mentioned  in  his  Prayers  and  Medita- 
tions, gave  me  Les  Pensees  de  Paschal,  that  I  might  not 
interrupt  him.  I  preserve  the  book  with  reverence.  His 
presenting  it  to  me  is  marked  upon  it  with  his  own  hand,  and 
I  have  found  in  it  a  truly  divine  unction.  We  went  to 
church  again  in  the  afternoon. 

On  Wednesday,  April  7,  I  dined  with  him  at  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds's.  I  have  not  marked  what  company  was  there. 
Johnson  harangued  upon  the  qualities  of  different  Uquors; 
and  spoke  with  great  contempt  of  claret,  as  so  weak,  that 
'a  man  would  be  drowned  by  it  before  it  made  him  drunk.' 
He  was  persuaded  to  drink  one  glass  of  it,  that  he  might 
judge,  not  from  recollection,  which  might  be  dim,  but  from 
immediate  sensation.  He  shook  his  head,  and  said,  'Poor 
stuff!  No,  Sir,  claret  is  the  liquor  for  boys;  port  for  men; 
but  he  who  aspires  to  be  a  hero  (smiling),  must  drink  brandy. 
In  the  first  place,  the  flavour  of  brandy  is  most  grateful  to 
the  palate;  and  then  brandy  will  do  soonest  for  a  man  what 
drinking  can  do  for  him.  There  are,  indeed,  few  who  are 
able  to  drink  brandy.  That  is  a  power  rather  to  be  wished 
for  than  attained.  And  yet,  (proceeded  he,)  as  in  all  pleasure 
hope  is  a  considerable  part,  I  know  not  but  fruition  comes 
too  quick  by  brandy.  Florence  wine  I  think  the  worst;  it 
is  wine  only  to  the  eye;  it  is  wine  neither  while  you  are 
drinking  it,  nor  after  you  have  drunk  it;  it  neither  pleases 
the  taste,  nor  exhilarates  the  spirits.'  I  reminded  him  how 
heartily  he  and  I  used  to  drink  wine  together,  when  we  were 
first  acquainted;  and  how  I  used  to  have  a  head-ache  after 
sitting  up  with  him.  He  did  not  like  to  have  this  recalled, 
or,  perhaps,  thinking  that  I  boasted  improperly,  resolved  to 
have  a  witty  stroke  at  me:  'Nay,  Sir,  it  was  not  the  wifie 
that  made  your  head  ache,  but  the  sense  that  I  put  into  it.' 
BoswELL.  'What,  Sir!  will  sense  make  the  head  ache?' 
Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  (with  a  smile,)  when  it  is  not  used  to 
it.' — No  man  who  has  a  true  relish  of  pleasantry  could  be 
offended  at  this;  especially  if  Johnson  in  a  long  intimacy 
had  given  him  repeated  proofs  of  his  regard  and  good  estima- 
tion.    I  used  to  say,  that  as  he  had  given  me  a  thousand 


420  LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [i7ro 

pounds  in  praise,  he  had  a  good  right  now  and  then  to  take 
a  guinea  from  me. 

On  Thursday,  April  8,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Allan 
Ramsay's,  with  Lord  Graham  and  some  other  company. 
We  talked  of  Shakspeare's  witches.  Johnson.  'They  are 
beings  of  his  own  creation;  they  are  a  compound  of  malig- 
nity and  meanness,  without  any  abilities;  and  are  quite 
different  from  the  Italian  magician.  King  James  says  in 
his  Dcemonology,  'Magicians  command  the  devils:  witches 
are  their  servants.  The  Italian  magicians  are  elegant  beings.' 
Ramsay.-  'Opera  witches,  not  Drury-lane  witches.'  John- 
son observed,  that  abilities  might  be  employed  in  a  narrow 
sphere,  as  in  getting  money,  which  he  said  he  believed  no 
man  could  do,  without  vigorous  parts,  though  concentrated 
to  a  point.  Ramsay.  'Yes,  like  a  strong  horse  in  a  mill; 
he  pulls  better.' 

Lord  Graham,  while  he  praised  the  beauty  of  Lochlomond, 
on  the  banks  of  which  is  his  family  seat,  complained  of  the 
climate,  and  said  he  could  not  bear  it.  Johnson.  'Nay, 
my  Lord,  don't  talk  so:  you  may  bear  it  well  enough.  Your 
ancestors  have  borne  it  more  years  than  I  can  tell.'  This 
was  a  handsome  compliment  to  the  antiquity  of  the  House 
of  Montrose.  His  Lordship  told  me  afterwards,  that  he  had 
only  affected  to  complain  of  the  climate;  lest,  if  he  had 
spoken  as  favourably  of  his  country  as  he  really  thought, 
Dr.  Johnson  might  have  attacked  it.  Johnson  was  very 
courteous  to  Lady  Margaret  Macdonald.  '  Madam,  (said  he,) 
when  I  was  in  the  Isle  of  Sky,  I  heard  of  th'e  people  running 
to  take  the  stones  off  the  road,  lest  Lady  Margaret's  horse 
should  stumble.' 

Lord  Graham  commended  Dr.  Drummond  at  Naples,  as 
a  man  of  extraordinary  talents;  and  added,  that  he  had  a 
great  love  of  liberty.  Johnson.  'He  is  young,  my  Lord; 
(looking  to  his  Lordship  with  an  arch  smile,)  all  boys  love 
liberty,  till  experience  convinces  them  they  are  not  so  fit  to 
govern  themselves  as  they  imagined.  We  are  all  agreed  as 
to  our  own  liberty;  we  would  have  as  much  of  it  as  we  can 
get;  but  we  are  not  agreed  as  to  the  liberty  of  others:  for 
in  proportion  as  we  take,  others  must  lose.     I  believe  we 


1779]         ALTERCATION  WITH  BEAUCLERK        421 

hardly  wish  that  the  mob  should  have  liberty  to  govern  us. 
When  that  was  the  case  some  time  ago,  no  man  was  at  liberty 
not  to  have  candles  in  his  windows.'  Ramsay.  'The  result 
is,  that  order  is  better  than  confusion.'  Johnson.  'The 
result  is,  that  order  cannot  be  had  but  by  subordination.' 

On  Friday,  April  16,  I  had  been  present  at  the  trial  of  the 
unfortunate  Mr.  Hackman,  who,  in  a  fit  of  frantick  jealous 
love,  had  shot  Miss  Ray,  the  favourite  of  a  nobleman. 
Johnson,  in  whose  company  I  dined  to-day  with  some  other 
friends,  was  much  interested  by  my  account  of  what  passed, 
and  particularly  with  his  prayer  for  the  mercy  of  heaven. 
He  said,  in  a  solemn  fervid  tone,  'I  hope  he  shall  find 
mercy.' 

This  day  a  violent  altercation  arose  between  Johnson  and 
Beauclerk,  which  having  made  much  noise  at  the  time,  I 
think  it  proper,  in  order  to  prevent  any  future  misrepresen- 
tation, to  give  a  minute  account  of  it. 

In  talking  of  Hackman,  Johnson  argued,  as  Judge  Black- 
stone  had  done,  that  his  being  furnished  with  two  pistols 
was  a  proof  that  he  meant  to  shoot  two  persons.  Mr.  Beau- 
clerk  said,  'No;  for  that  every  wise  man  who  intended  to 
shoot  himself,  took  two  pistols,  that  he  might  be  sure  of 

doing  it  at  once.     Lord 's  cook  shot  himself 

with  one  pistol,  and  lived  ten  days  in  great  agony.     Mr. 

,  who  loved  buttered  muffins,  but  durst  not  eat  them 

because  they  disagreed  with  his  stomach,  resolved  to  shoot 
himself;  and  then  he  eat  three  buttered  muffins  for  break- 
fast, before  shooting  himself,  knowing  that  he  should  not  be 
troubled  with  indigestion:  he  had  two  charged  pistols;  one 
was  found  lying  charged  upon  the  table  by  him,  after  he  had 
shot  himself  with  the  other.'  'Well,  (said  Johnson,  with  an 
air  of  triumph,)  you  see  here  one  pistol  was  sufficient.' 
Beauclerk  replied  smartly,  'Because  it  happened  to  kill  him.' 
And  either  then  or  a  very  little  afterwards,  being  piqued  at 
Johnson's  triumphant  remark,  added,  'This  is  what  you 
don't  know,  and  I  do.'  There  was  then  a  cessation  of  the 
dispute;  and  some  minutes  intervened,  during  which,  dinner 
and  the  glass  went  on  cheerfully;  when  Johnson  suddenly 
and  abruptly  exclaimed,  'Mr.  Beauclerk,  how  came  you  to 


422  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  ti77» 

talk  so  petulantly  to  me,  as  "This  is  what  you  don't  know, 
but  what  I  know"?  One  thing  /  know,  which  you  don't 
seem  to  know,  that  you  are  very  uncivil.'  Beauclerk. 
'Because  you  began  by  being  uncivil,  (which  you  always 
are.)'  The  words  in  parenthesis  were,  I  believe,  not  heard 
by  Dr.  Johnson,  Here  again  there  was  a  cessation  of  arms. 
Johnson  told  me,  that  the  reason  why  he  waited  at  first 
some  time  without  taking  any  notice  of  what  Mr.  Beauclerk 
said,  was  because  he  was  thinking  whether  he  should  resent 
it.  But  when  he  considered  that  there  were  present  a  young 
Lord  and  an  eminent  traveller,  two  men  of  the  world  with 
whom  he  had  never  dined  before,  he  was  apprehensive  that 
they  might  think  they  had  a  right  to  take  such  liberties  with 
him  as  Beauclerk  did,  and  therefore  resolved  he  would  not 
let  it  pass;  adding,  that  'he  would  not  appear  a  coward.* 
A  little  while  after  this,  the  conversation  turned  on  the 
violence  of  Hackman's  temper.  Johnson  then  said,  'It  was 
his  business  to  command  his  temper,  as  my  friend,  Mr.  Beau- 
clerk, should  have  done  some  time  ago.'  Beauclerk  'I 
should  learn  of  you,  Sir.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  you  have  given 
m^  opportunities  enough  of  learning,  when  I  have  been  in 
your  company.  No  man  loves  to  be  treated  with  contempt.* 
Beauclerk.  (with  a  polite  inclination  towards  Johnson,) 
'Sir,  you  have  known  me  twenty  years,  and  however  I  may 
have  treated  others,  you  may  be  sure  I  could  never  treat 
you  with  contempt.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  you  have  said  more 
than  was  necessary.'  Thus  it  ended;  and  Beauclerk's  coach 
not  having  come  for  him  till  very  late.  Dr.  Johnson  and 
another  gentleman  sat  with  him  a  long  time  after  the  rest  of 
the  company  were  gone;  and  he  and  I  dined  at  Beauclerk's 
on  the  Saturday  se'nnight  following. 

After  this  tempest  had  subsided,  I  recollect  the  following 
particulars  of  his  conversation: — 

'I  am  always  for  getting  a  boy  forward  in  his  learning; 
for  that  is  a  sure  good.  I  would  let  him  at  first  read  any 
English  book  which  happens  to  engage  his  attention;  be- 
cause you  have  done  a  great  deal  when  you  have  brought  him 
to  have  entertainment  from  a  book.  He'll  get  better  books 
afterwards.' 


1779]  GARRICK  AND  CHESTERFIELD  423 

'  To  be  contradicted,  in  order  to  force  you  to  talk,  is 
mighty  unpleasing.  You  shine,  indeed;  but  it  is  by  being 
ground.' 

On  Saturday,  April  24,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Beau- 
clerk's,  with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Mr.  Jones,  (afterwards 
Sir  William,)  Mr.  Langton,  Mr.  Steevens,  Mr.  Paradise,  and 
Dr.  Higgins.  I  mentioned  that  Mr.  Wilkes  had  attacked 
Garrick  to  me,  as  a  man  who  had  no  friend.  'I  believe  he 
is  right.  Sir.  Ol  ^Ck^i,  ou  ^iX^c, — He  had  friends,  but  no 
friend.  Garrick  was  so  diffused,  he  had  no  man  to  whom 
he  wished  to  unbosom  himself.  He  found  people  always 
ready  to  applaud  him,  and  that  always  for  the  same  thing: 
so  he  saw  life  with  great  uniformity.'  I  took  upon  me,  for 
once,  to  fight  with  Goliath's  weapons,  and  play  the  sophist. 
— '  Garrick  did  not  need  a  friend,  as  he  got  from  every  body 
all  he  wanted.  What  is  a  friend?  One  who  supports  you 
and  comforts  you,  while  others  do  not.  Friendship,  you 
know.  Sir,  is  the  cordial  drop,  "to  make  the  nauseous  draught 
of  life  go  down:"  but  if  the  draught  be  not  nauseous,  if  it  be 
all  sweet,  there  is  no  occasion  for  that  drop.'  Johnson. 
'  Many  men  would  not  be  content  to  live  so.  I  hope  I  should 
not.  They  would  wish  to  have  an  intimate  friend,  with 
whom  they  might  compare  minds,  and  cherish  private  vir- 
tues.' One  of  the  company  mentioned  Lord  Chesterfield, 
as  a  man  who  had  no  friend.  Johnson.  '  There  were  more 
materials  to  make  friendship  in  Garrick,  had  he  not  been  so 
diffused.'  Boswell.  'Garrick  was  pure  gold,  but  beat 
out  to  thin  leaf.  Lord  Chesterfield  was  tinsel.'  Johnson. 
'Garrick  was  a  very  good  man,  the  cheerfullest  man  of  his 
age;  a  decent  liver  in  a  profession  which  is  supposed  to  give 
indulgence  to  licentiousness;  and  a  man  who  gave  away, 
freely,  money  acquired  by  himself.  He  began  the  world  with 
a  great  hunger  for  money;  the  son  of  a  half -pay  officer,  bred 
in  a  family,  whose  study  was  to  make  four-pence  do  as  much 
as  others  made  four-pence  halfpenny  do.  But,  when  he  had 
got  money,  he  was  very  liberal.'  I  presumed  to  animadvert 
on  his  eulogy  on  Garrick,  in  his  Lives  of  the  Poets.  '  You  say. 
Sir,  his  death  eclipsed  the  gaiety  of  nations.'  Johnson. 
'  I  could  not  have  said  more  nor  less.     It  is  the  truth ;  eclipsedy 


424  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1779 

not  extinguished;  and  his  death  did  eclipse;  it  was  like  a 
storm.'  BoswELL.  'But  why  nations?  Did  his  gaiety  ex- 
tend farther  than  his  own  nation?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir, 
some  exaggeration  must  be  allowed.  Besides,  nations  may 
be  said — if  we  allow  the  Scotch  to  be  a  nation,  and  to  have 
gaiety, — which  they  have  not.  You  are  an  exception, 
though.  Come,  gentlemen,  let  us  candidly  admit  that  there 
is  one  Scotchman  who  is  cheerful.'  Beauclerk.  'But  he 
is  a  very  unnatural  Scotchman.'  I,  however,  continued  to 
think  the  compliment  to  Garrick  hyperbolically  untrue.  His 
acting  had  ceased  some  time  before  his  death;  at  any  rate 
he  had  acted  in  Ireland  but  a  short  time,  at  an  early  period 
of  his  life,  and  never  in  Scotland.  I  objected  also  to  what 
appears  an  anticlimax  of  praise,  when  contrasted  with  the 
preceding  panegyrick, — 'and  diminished  the  public  stock  of 
harmless  pleasure!' — 'Is  not  harmless  pleasure  very  tame?' 
Johnson.  '  Nay,  Sir,  harmless  pleasure  is  the  highest  praise. 
Pleasure  is  a  word  of  dubious  import;  pleasure  is  in  general 
dangerous,  and  pernicious  to  virtue;  to  be  able  therefore  to 
furnish  pleasure  that  is  harmless,  pleasure  pure  and  un- 
alloyed, is  as  great  a  power  as  man  can  possess.'  This  was, 
perhaps,  as  ingenious  a  defence  as  could  be  made;  still,  how- 
ever, I  was  not  satisfied. 

Talking  of  celebrated  and  successful  irregular  practisers  in 
physick;  he  said,  'Taylor  was  the  most  ignorant  man  I  ever 
knew;  but  sprightly.  Ward  the  dullest.  Taylor  challenged 
me  once  to  talk  Latin  with  him;  (laughing).  I  quoted  some 
of  Horace,  which  he  took  to  be  a  part  of  my  own  speech. 
He  said  a  few  words  well  enough.'  Beauclerk.  'I  re- 
member. Sir,  you  said  that  Taylor  was  an  instance  how  far 
impudence  could  carry  ignorance.'  Mr.  Beauclerk  was  very 
entertaining  this  day,  and  told  us  a  number  of  short  stories 
in  a  lively  elegant  manner,  and  with  that  air  of  the  world 
which  has  I  know  not  what  impressive  efifect,  as  if  there  were 
something  more  than  is  expressed,  or  than  perhaps  we  could 
perfectly  understand.  As  Johnson  and  I  accompanied  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  in  his  coach,  Johnson  said,  'There  is  in 
Beauclerk  a  predominance  over  his  company,  that  one  does 
not  like.     But  he  is  a  man  who  has  lived  so  much  iu  the 


1779]       JOHNSON  AND  LORD  MARCHMONT       425 

world,  that  he  has  a  short  story  on  every  occasion;    he  is 
always  ready  to  talk,  and  is  never  exhausted.' 

Soon  after  this  time  a  little  incident  occurred,  which  I  will 
not  suppress,  because  I  am  desirous  that  my  work  should  be, 
as  much  as  is  consistent  with  the  strictest  truth,  an  antidote 
to  the  false  and  injurious  notions  of  his  character,  which  have 
been  given  by  others,  and  therefore  I  infuse  every  drop  of 
genuine  sweetness  into  my  biographical  cup. 

'To  Dr.  Johnson. 

'My  dear  Sir, — I  am  in  great  pain  with  an  inflamed 
foot,  and  obliged  to  keep  my  bed,  so  am  prevented  from 
having  the  pleasure  to  dine  at  Mr.  Ramsay's  to-day,  which  is 
very  hard;  and  my  spirits  are  sadly  sunk.  Will  you  be  so 
friendly  as  to  come  and  sit  an  hour  with  me  in  the  evening. 
I  am  ever  your  most  faithful,  and  affectionate  humble 
servant, 

'South  Audley-street,  'James  Boswell.' 

Monday,  April  26.' 

'To  Mr.  Boswell. 

'Mr.  Johnson  laments  the  absence  of  Mr.  Boswell,  and 
will  come  to  him. — Harley-street.' 

He  came  to  me  in  the  evening,  and  brought  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds.  I  need  scarcely  say,  that  their  conversation, 
while  they  sate  by  my  bedside,  was  the  most  pleasing  opiate 
to  pain  that  could  have  been  administered. 

Johnson  being  now  better  disposed  to  obtain  information 
concerning  Pope  than  he  was  last  year,  sent  by  me  to  my 
Lord  Marchmont  a  present  of  those  volumes  of  his  Lives  of 
the  Poets  which  were  at  this  time  published,  with  a  request  to 
have  permission  to  wait  on  him;  and  his  Lordship,  who  had 
called  on  him  twice,  obligingly  appointed  Saturday,  the  first 
of  May,  for  receiving  us. 

On  that  morning  Johnson  came  to  me  from  Streatham,  and 
after  drinking  chocolate  at  General  Paoli's,  in  South-Audley- 


426  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  (1779 

street,  we  proceeded  to  Lord  Marchmont's  in  Curzon-street. 
His  Lordship  met  us  at  the  door  of  his  library,  and  with 
great  politeness  said  to  Johnson,  '  I  am  not  going  to  make  an 
encomium  upon  myself,  by  telling  you  the  high  respect  I 
have  for  you,  Sir.'  Johnson  was  exceedingly  courteous;  and 
the  interview,  which  lasted  about  two  hours,  during  which 
the  Earl  communicated  his  anecdotes  of  Pope,  was  as  agree- 
able as  I  could  have  wished.  When  we  came  out,  I  said  to 
Johnson,  that  considering  his  Lordship's  civility,  I  should 
have  been  vexed  if  he  had  again  failed  to  come.  'Sir,  (said 
he,)  I  would  rather  have  given  twenty  pounds  than  not  have 
come.'  I  accompanied  him  to  Streatham,  where  we  dined, 
and  returned  to  town  in  the  evening. 

He  had,  before  I  left  London,  resumed  the  conversation 
concerning  the  appearance  of  a  ghost  at  Newcastle  upon 
Tyne,  which  Mr.  John  Wesley  believed,  but  to  which  John- 
son did  not  give  credit.  I  was,  however,  desirous  to  examine 
the  question  closely,  and  at  the  same  time  wished  to  be 
made  acquainted  with  Mr.  John  Wesley;  for  though  I 
differed  from  him  in  some  points,  I  admired  his  various 
talents,  and  loved  his  pious  zeal.  At  my  request,  therefore, 
Dr.  Johnson  gave  me  a  letter  of  introduction  to  him. 

'To  THE  Reverend  Mr.  John  Wesley. 

'Sir, — Mr.  Boswell,  a  gentleman  who  has  been  long 
known  to  me,  is  desirous  of  being  known  to  you,  and  has 
asked  this  recommendation,  which  I  give  him  with  great 
willingness,  because  I  think  it  very  much  to  be  wished  that 
worthy  and  religious  men  should  be  acquainted  with  each 
other.     I  am,  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'May  3,  1779.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

Mr.  Wesley  being  in  the  course  of  his  ministry  at  Edin- 
burgh, I  presented  this  letter  to  him,  and  was  very  poUtely 
received.  I  begged  to  have  it  returned  to  me,  which  was 
accordingly  done.  His  state  of  the  evidence  as  to  the  ghost 
did  not  satisfy  me. 

My  readers  will  not  be  displeased  at  being  told  every 


1779]  'BREAKFAST  IN  SPLENDOUR'  427 

slight  circumstance  of  the  manner  in  which  Dr.  Johnson 
contrived  to  amuse  his  soUtary  hours.  He  sometimes  em- 
ployed himself  in  chymistry,  sometimes  in  watering  and 
pruning  a  vine,  sometimes  in  small  experiments,  at  which 
those  who  may  smile,  should  recollect  that  there  are  moments 
which  admit  of  being  soothed  only  by  trifles. ^ 

My  friend  Colonel  James  Stuart,  second  son  of  the  Earl 
of  Bute,  who  had  distinguished  himself  as  a  good  officer  of 
the  Bedfordshire  militia,  had  taken  a  publick-spirited  reso- 
lution to  serve  his  country  in  its  difficulties,  by  raising  a 
regular  regiment,  and  taking  the  command  of  it  himself. 
This,  in  the  heir  of  the  immense  property  of  Wortley,  was 
highly  honourable.  Having  been  in  Scotland  recruiting, 
he  obligingly  asked  me  to  accompany  him  to  Leeds,  then 
the  head-quarters  of  his  corps;  from  thence  to  London  for 
&  short  time,  and  afterwards  to  other  places  to  which  the 
regiment  might  be  ordered.  Such  an  offer,  at  a  time  of  the 
year  when  I  had  full  leisure,  was  very  pleasing;  especially  as 
I  was  to  accompany  a  man  of  sterling  good  sense,  informa- 
tion, discernment,  and  conviviality;  and  was  to  have  a 
second  crop  in  one  year  of  London  and  Johnson.  Of  this  I 
informed  my  illustrious  friend,  in  characteristical  warm  terms, 
in  a  letter  dated  the  30th  of  September,  from  Leeds. 

On  Monday,  October  4,  I  called  at  his  house  before  he 
was  up.  He  sent  for  me  to  his  bedside,  and  expressed  his 
satisfaction  at  this  incidental  meeting,  with  as  much  vivacity 
AS  if  he  had  been  in  the  gaiety  of  youth.  He  called  briskly, 
'Frank,  go  and  get  coffee,  and  let  us  breakfast  in  splendour.' 

On  Sunday,  October  10,  we  dined  together  at  Mr.  Stra- 
lian's.     The  conversation  having  turned  on  the  prevailing 

>  In  one  of  his  manuscript  Diaries,  there  is  the  following  entry,  which 
marks  his  curious  minute  attention:  'July  26,  1768.  I  shaved  my  nail 
by  accident  in  whetting  the  knife,  about  an  eighth  of  an  inch  from  the 
bottom,  and  about  a  fourth  from  the  top.  This  I  measure  that  I  may 
know  the  growth  of  nails;    the  whole  is  about  Ave  eighths  of  an  inch.' 

Another  of  the  same  kind  appears, '  Aug.  7,  1779,  Partem  brachii  dex- 
tri  carpo  proximam  et  cutem  pectoris  circa  mamillam  dextram  rasi,  ut 
notum  fleret  quanta  temporis  pili  renovarentur .' 

And,  'Aug.  15,  1773.  I  cut  from  the  vine  41  leaves,  which  weighed 
five  oz.  and  a  half,  and  eight  scruples: — I  lay  them  upon  my  book- 
case, to  see  what  weight  they  will  lose  by  drying.' — Boswbll. 


428  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON     ,  11779 

practice  of  going  to  the  East-Indies  in  quest  of  wealth; — 
Johnson.  'A  man  had  better  have  ten  thousand  pounds  at 
the  end  of  ten  years  passed  in  England,  than  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  at  the  end  of  ten  years  passed  in  India,  because 
you  must  compute  what  you  give  for  money;  and  a  man 
who  has  lived  ten  years  in  India,  has  given  up  ten  years 
of  social  comfort  and  all  those  advantages  which  arise  from 
living  in  England.  The  ingenious  Mr.  Brown,  distinguished 
by  the  name  of  Capability  Brown,  told  me,  that  he  was  once 
at  the  seat  of  Lord  Clive,  who  had  returned  from  India  with 
great  wealth ;  and  that  he  shewed  him  at  the  door  of  his  bed- 
chamber a  large  chest,  which  he  said  he  had  once  had  full  of 
gold;  upon  which  Brown  observed,  "I  am  glad  you  can 
bear  it  so  near  your  bed-chamber." ' 

We  talked  of  the  state  of  the  poor  in  London. — Johnson. 
'Saunders  Welch,  the  Justice,  who  was  once  High-Constable 
of  Holborn,  and  had  the  best  opportunities  of  knowing  the 
state  of  the  poor,  told  me,  that  I  under-rated  the  number, 
when  I  computed  that  twenty  a  week,  that  is,  above  a 
thousand  a  year,  died  of  hunger;  not  absolutely  of  immediate 
hunger;  but  of  the  wasting  and  other  diseases  which  are  the 
consequences  of  hunger.  This  happens  only  in  so  large  a 
place  as  London,  where  people  are  not  known.  What  we 
are  told  about  the  great  sums  got  by  begging  is  not  true: 
the  trade  is  overstocked.  And,  you  may  depend  upon  it, 
there  are  many  who  cannot  get  work.  A  particular  kind  of 
manufacture  fails:  those  who  have  been  used  to  work  at 
it,  can,  for  some  time,  work  at  nothing  else.  You  meet  a 
man  begging;  you  charge  him  with  idleness:  he  says,  "I  am 
willing  to  labour.  Will  you  give  me  work?" — "I  cannot." 
— "Why,  then  you  have  no  right  to  charge  me  with  idleness." ' 

We  left  Mr.  Strahan's  at  seven,  as  Johnson  had  said  he 
intended  to  go  to  evening  prayers.  As  we  walked  along, 
he  complained  of  a  little  gout  in  his  toe,  and  said,  'I  shan't 
go  to  prayers  to-night;  I  shall  go  to-morrow:  Whenever 
I  miss  church  on  a  Sunday,  I  resolve  to  go  another  day. 
But  I  do  not  always  do  it.'  This  was  a  fair  exhibition  of 
that  vibration  between  pious  resolutions  and  indolence, 
which  many  of  us  have  too  often  experienced. 


1779]   SATISFACTION  WITH  THE  DICTIONARY    429 

I  went  home  with  him,  and  we  had  a  long  quiet  conver- 
sation. 

BoswELL.  'Why,  Sir,  do  people  play  this  trick  which  I 
observe  now,  when  I  look  at  your  grate,  putting  the  shovel 
against  it  to  make  the  fire  burn?'  Johnson.  'They  play 
the  trick,  but  it  does  not  make  the  fire  burn.  There  is  a 
better;  (setting  the  poker  perpendicularly  up  at  right  angles 
with  the  grate.)  In  days  of  superstition  they  thought,  as 
it  made  a  cross  with  the  bars,  it  would  drive  away  the  witch.' 

BoswELL.  'By  associating  with  you.  Sir,  I  am  always 
getting  an  accession  of  wisdom.  But  perhaps  a  man,  after 
knowing  his  own  character — the  limited  strength  of  his  own 
mind,  should  not  be  desirous  of  having  too  much  wisdom, 
considering,  quid  valeant  humeri,  how  little  he  can  carry.' 
Johnson.  'Sir,  be  as  wise  as  you  can;  let  a  man  be  aliis 
Icetus,  sapiens  sibi : 

"Though  pleas'd  to  see  the  dolphins  play, 
I  mind  my  compass  and  my  way." 

You  may  be  wise  in  your  study  in  the  morning,  and  gay  in 
company  at  a  tavern  in  the  evening.  Every  man  is  to  take 
care  of  his  own  wisdom  and  his  own  virtue,  without  minding 
too  much  what  others  think.' 

He  said,  'Dodsley  first  mentioned  to  me  the  scheme  of 
an  English  Dictionary;  but  I  had  long  thought  of  it.'  Bos- 
well.  'You  did  not  know  what  you  were  undertaking.' 
Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir,  I  knew  very  well  what  I  was  under- 
taking,— and  very  well  how  to  do  it,— and  have  done  it  very 
well.'  BoswELL.  'An  excellent  climax!  and  it  has  availed 
you.  In  your  Preface  you  say,  "What  would  it  avail  me  in 
this  gloom  of  solitude?"  You  have  been  agreeably  mis- 
taken.' 

In  his  Life  of  Milton  he  observes,  'I  cannot  but  remark  a 
kind  of  respect,  perhaps  unconsciously,  paid  to  this  great 
man  by  his  biographers:  every  house  in  which  he  resided  is 
historically  mentioned,  as  if  it  were  an  injury  to  neglect 
naming  any  place  that  he  honoured  by  his  presence.'  I 
had,  before  I  read  this  observation,  been  desirous  of  shew- 


430  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1779 

ing  that  respect  to  Johnson,  by  various  inquiries.  Finding 
him  this  evening  in  a  very  good  humour,  I  prevailed  on 
him  to  give  me  an  exact  list  of  his  places  of  residence,  since 
he  entered  the  metropolis  as  an  authour,  which  I  subjoin 
in  a  note.* 

On  Tuesday,  October  12,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Ram- 
say's, with  Lord  Newhaven,  and  some  other  company,  none 
of  whom  I  recollect,  but  a  beautiful  Miss  Graham,  a  rela- 
tion of  his  Lordship's,  who  asked  Dr.  Johnson  to  hob  or  nob 
with  her.  He  was  flattered  by  such  pleasing  attention, 
and  politely  told  her,  he  never  drank  wine;  but  if  she  would 
drink  a  glass  of  water,  he  was  much  at  her  service.  She 
accepted.  '  Oho,  Sir !  (said  Lord  Newhaven,)  you  are  caught.' 
Johnson.  'Nay,  I  do  not  see  how  I  am  caught;  but  if  I 
am  caught,  I  don't  want  to  get  free  again.  If  I  am  caught, 
I  hope  to  be  kept.'  Then  when  the  two  glasses  of  water 
were  brought,  smiling  placidly  to  the  young  lady,  he  said, 
'Madam,  let  us  reciprocate.' 

Lord  Newhaven  and  Johnson  carried  on  an  argument  for 
some  time,  concerning  the  Middlesex  election.  Johnson  said, 
'Parliament  may  be  considered  as  bound  by  law  as  a  man 
is  bound  where  there  is  nobody  to  tie  the  knot.  As  it  is 
clear  that  the  House  of  Commons  may  expel  and  expel  again 
and  again,  why  not  allow  of  the  power  to  incapacitate  for 
that  parliament,  rather  than  have  a  perpetual  contest  kept 
up  between  parliament  and  the  people.'  Lord  Newhaven 
took  the  opposite  side;  but  respectfully  said,  'I  speak  with 
great  deference  to  you.  Dr.  Johnson;  I  speak  to  be  instructed.* 
This  had  its  full  effect  on  my  friend.  He  bowed  his  head 
almost  as  low  as  the  table,  to  a  complimenting  nobleman; 
and  called  out,  'My  Lord,  my  Lord,  I  do  not  desire  all  this 
ceremony;  let  us  tell  our  minds  to  one  another  quietly.' 
After  the  debate  was  over,  he  said,  'I  have  got  lights  on  the 

1  1.  Exeter-street,  off  Catherine-street,  Strand.  2.  Greenwich.  3. 
"Woodstock-street,  near  Hanover-sqxiare.  4.  Castle-street,  Cavendish- 
square,  No.  6.  5.  Strand.  6.  Boswell-Court.  7.  Strand,  again.  8. 
Bow-street.  9.  Holbom.  10.  Fetter-lane.  11.  Holbom,  again.  12. 
Gough-square.  13.  Staple  Inn.  14.  Gray's  Inn.  15.  Inner  Temple- 
lane,  No.   1.     16.  Jolinson's-court,  No.  7.     17.  Bolt-court.  No.  8. — 

BOSWELL. 


1779]  OPINION  OF  WHITEFIELD  431 

subject  to-day,  which  I  had  not  before.'  This  was  a  great 
deal  from  him,  especially  as  he  had  written  a  pamphlet 
upon  it. 

Of  his  fellow-collegian,  the  celebrated  Mr.  George  White- 
field,  he  said,  'Whitefield  never  drew  as  much  attention  as 
a  mountebank  does;  he  did  not  draw  attention  by  doing 
better  than  others,  but  by  doing  what  was  strange.  Were 
Astley  to  preach  a  sermon  standing  upon  his  head  on  a 
horse's  back,  he  would  collect  a  multitude  to  hear  him;  but 
no  wise  man  would  say  he  had  made  a  better  sermon  for  that. 
I  never  treated  Whitefield's  ministry  with  contempt;  I  believe 
he  did  good.  He  had  devoted  himself  to  the  lower  classes 
of  mankind,  and  among  them  he  was  of  use.  But  when 
familiarity  and  noise  claim  the  praise  due  to  knowledge,  art, 
and  elegance,  we  must  beat  down  such  pretensions.' 

What  I  have  preserved  of  his  conversation  during  the  re- 
mainder of  my  stay  in  London  at  this  time,  is  only  what 
follows:  I  told  him  that  when  I  objected  to  keeping  com- 
pany with  a  notorious  infidel,  a  celebrated  friend  of  ours 
said  to  me,  'I  do  not  think  that  men  who  live  laxly  in  the 
world,  as  you  and  I  do,  can  with  propriety  assume  such  an 
authority.  Dr.  Johnson  may,  who  is  uniformly  exemplary 
in  his  conduct.  But  it  is  not  very  consistent  to  shun  an 
infidel  to-day,  and  get  drunk  to-morrow.'  Johnson.  'Nay,, 
Sir,  this  is  sad  reasoning.  Because  a  man  cannot  be  right 
in  all  things,  is  he  to  be  right  in  nothing?  Because  a  man 
sometimes  gets  drunk,  is  he  therefore  to  steal?  This  doc- 
trine would  very  soon  bring  a  man  to  the  gallows.' 

He,  I  know  not  why,  shewed  upon  all  occasions  an  aver- 
sion to  go  to  Ireland,  where  I  proposed  to  him  that  we  should 
make  a  tour.  Johnson.  '  It  is  the  last  place  where  I  should 
wish  to  travel.'  Boswell.  'Should  you  not  like  to  see 
Dublin,  Sir?'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir!  Dublin  is  only  a 
worse  capital.'  Boswell.  'Is  not  the  Giant 's-Causeway 
worth  seeing'?'  Johnson.  'Worth  seeing?  yes;  but  not 
worth  going  to  see.' 

Yet  he  had  a  kindness  for  the  Irish  nation,  and  thus  gen- 
erously expressed  himself  to  a  gentleman  from  that  country, 
on  the  subject  of  an  union  which  artful  Politicians  have 


432  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [uso 

often  had  in  view — 'Do  not  make  an  union  with  us,  Sir. 
We  should  unite  with  you,  only  to  rob  you.  We  should 
have  robbed  the  Scotch,  if  they  had  had  any  thing  of  which 
we  could  have  robbed  them.' 

Of  an  acquaintance  of  ours,  whose  manners  and  every 
thing  about  him,  though  expensive,  were  coarse,  he  said, 
*Sir,  you  see  in  him  vulgar  prosperity.' 

A  foreign  minister  of  no  very  high  talents,  who  had  been 
in  his  company  for  a  considerable  time  quite  overlooked, 
happened  luckily  to  mention  that  he  had  read  some  of  his 
Rambler  in  Italian,  and  admired  it  much.  This  pleased  him 
greatly;  he  observed  that  the  title  had  been  translated,  // 
Genio  errante,  though  I  have  been  told  it  was  rendered  more, 
ludicrously,  II  Vagabondo;  and  finding  that  this  minister 
gave  such  a  proof  of  his  taste,  he  was  all  attention  to  him, 
and  on  the  first  remark  which  he  made,  however  simple, 
exclaimed,  'The  Ambassadour  says  well — His  Excellency 
observes — '  And  then  he  expanded  and  enriched  the  little 
that  had  been  said,  in  so  strong  a  manner,  that  it  appeared 
something  of  consequence.  This  was  exceedingly  enter- 
taining to  the  company  who  were  present,  and  many  a  time 
afterwards  it  furnished  a  pleasant  topick  of  merriment: 
*The  Ambassadour  says  well,'  became  a  laughable  term  of 
applause,  when  no  mighty  matter  had  been  expressed. 

I  left  London  on  Monday,  October  18,  and  accompanied 
Colonel  Stuart  to  Chester,  where  his  regiment  was  to  lye 
for  some  time. 

1780:  iETAT.  71.] — In  1780,  the  world  was  kept  in  im- 
patience for  the  completion  of  his  Lives  of  the  Poets,  upon 
which  he  was  employed  so  far  as  his  indolence  allowed  him 
to  labour. 

His  friend  Dr.  Lawrence  having  now  suffered  the  greatest 
affliction  to  which  a  man  is  liable,  and  which  Johnson  him- 
self had  felt  in  the  most  severe  manner;  Johnson  wrote  to 
him  in  an  admirable  strain  of  sympathy  and  pious  consola- 
tion. 


1780]        THE  DEATH  OF  MRS.  LAWRENCE        433 


'To  Dr.  Lawrence. 

'Dear  Sir, — At  a  time  when  all  your  friends  ought  to 
shew  their  kindness,  and  with  a  character  which  ought  to 
make  all  that  know  you  your  friends,  you  may  wonder  that 
you  have  yet  heard  nothing  from  me. 

'  I  have  been  hindered  by  a  vexatious  and  incessant  cough, 
for  which  within  these  ten  days  I  have  been  bled  once, 
fasted  four  or  five  times,  taken  physick  five  times,  and  opi- 
ates, I  think,  six.     This  day  it  seems  to  remit. 

'The  loss,  dear  Sir,  which  you  have  lately  suffered,  I  felt 
many  years  ago,  and  know  therefore  how  much  has  been 
taken  from  you,  and  how  little  help  can  be  had  from  con- 
solation. He  that  outlives  a  wife  whom  he  has  long  loved, 
sees  himself  disjoined  from  the  only  mind  that  has  the  same 
hopes,  and  fears,  and  interest;  from  the  only  companion 
with  whom  he  has  shared  much  good  or  evil;  and  with  whom 
he  could  set  his  mind  at  liberty,  to  retrace  the  past  or  an- 
ticipate the  future.  The  continuity  of  being  is  lacerated; 
the  settled  course  of  sentiment  and  action  is  stopped;  and 
life  stands  suspended  and  motionless,  till  it  is  driven  by 
external  causes  into  a  new  channel.  But  the  time  of  sus- 
pense is  dreadful. 

'Our  first  recourse  in  this  distressed  solitude,  is,  perhaps 
for  want  of  habitual  piety,  to  a  gloomy  acquiescence  in 
necessity.  Of  two  mortal  beings,  one  must  lose  the  other; 
but  surely  there  is  a  higher  and  better  comfort  to  be  drawn 
from  the  consideration  of  that  Providence  which  watches 
over  all,  and  a  belief  that  the  living  and  the  dead  are  equally 
in  the  hands  of  God,  who  will  reunite  those  whom  he  has 
separated;  or  who  sees  that  it  is  best  not  to  reunite.  I  am, 
dear  Sir,  your  most  affectionate,  and  most  humble  servant, 

'January  20,  1780.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

On  the  2nd  of  May  I  wrote  to  him,  and  requested  that 
we  might  have  another  meeting  somewhere  in  the  North 
of  England,  in  the  autumn  of  this  year. 

From  Mr.  Langton  I  received  soon  after  this  time  a  letter. 


434  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i780 

of  which  I  extract  a  passage,  relative  both  to  Mr.  Beauclerk 
and  Dr.  Johnson. 

'The  melancholy  information  you  have  received  concern- 
ing Mr.  Beauclerk's  death  is  true.  Had  his  talents  been 
directed  in  any  sufficient  degree  as  they  ought,  I  have  always 
been  strongly  of  opinion  that  they  were  calculated  to  make 
an  illustrious  figure;  and  that  opinion,  as  it  had  been  in 
part  formed  upon  Dr.  Johnson's  judgment,  receives  more 
and  more  confirmation  by  hearing  what,  since  his  death. 
Dr.  Johnson  has  said  concerning  them;  a  few  evenings  ago, 
lie  was  at  Mr.  Vesey's,  where  Lord  Althorpe,  who  was  one 
of  a  numerous  company  there,  addressed  Dr.  Johnson  on 
the  subject  of  Mr.  Beauclerk's  death,  saying,  "Our  Club 
has  had  a  great  loss  since  we  met  last."  He  repUed,  "A 
loss,  that  perhaps  the  whole  nation  could  not  repair!"  The 
Doctor  then  went  on  to  speak  of  his  endowments,  and  par- 
ticularly extolled  the  wonderful  ease  with  which  he  uttered 
what  was  highly  excellent.  He  said,  that  "no  man  ever 
was  so  free  when  he  was  going  to  say  a  good  thing,  from  a 
look  that  expressed  that  it  was  coming;  or,  when  he  had 
said  it,  from  a  look  that  expressed  that  it  had  come."  At 
Mr.  Thrale's,  some  days  before  when  we  were  talking  on  the 
same  subject,  he  said,  referring  to  the  same  idea  of  his  won- 
derful facility,  "That  Beauclerk's  talents  were  those  which 
he  had  felt  himself  more  disposed  to  envy,  than  those  of  any 
whom  he  had  known." 

*0n  the  evening  I  have  spoken  of  above,  at  Mr.  Vesey's, 
you  would  have  been  much  gratified,  as  it  exhibited  an  in- 
stance of  the  high  importance  in  which  Dr.  Johnson's  char- 
acter is  held,  I  think  even  beyond  any  I  ever  before  was 
witness  to.  The  company  consisted  chiefly  of  ladies,  among 
whom  were  the  Duchess  Dowager  of  Portland,  the  Duchess 
of  Beaufort,  whom  I  suppose  from  her  rank  I  must  name 
before  her  mother  Mrs.  Boscawen,  and  her  elder  sister  Mrs. 
Lewson,  who  was  likewise  there;  Lady  Lucan,  Lady  Cler- 
mont, and  others  of  note  both  for  their  station  and  under- 
standings. Among  the  gentlemen  were  Lord  Althorpe, 
whom  I  have  before  named.  Lord  Macartney,  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  Lord  Lucan,  Mr.  Wraxal,  whose  book  you  have 


1780]  APPEAL  TO  LORD  THURLOW  435 

probably  seen,  The  Tour  to  the  Northern  Parts  of  Europe;  a 
very  agreeable  ingenious  man;  Dr.  Warren,  Mr.  Pepys,  the 
Master  in  Chancery,  whom  I  believe  you  know,  and  Dr. 
Barnard,  the  Provost  of  Eton.  As  soon  as  Dr.  Johnson  was 
come  in  and  had  taken  a  chair,  the  company  began  to  col- 
lect round  him,  till  they  became  not  less  than  four,  if  not 
five,  deep;  those  behind  standing,  and  listening  over  the 
heads  of  those  that  were  sitting  near  him.  The  conversa- 
tion for  some  time  was  chiefly  between  Dr.  Johnson  and  the 
Provost  of  Eton,  while  the  others  contributed  occasionally 
their  remarks.' 

On  his  birth-day,  Johnson  has  this  note:  'I  am  now  begin- 
ning the  seventy-second  year  of  my  Ufe,  with  more  strength 
of  body,  and  greater  vigour  of  mind,  than  I  think  is  common 
at  that  age.'  But  still  he  complains  of  sleepless  nights  and 
idle  days,  and  forgetfulness,  or  neglect  of  resolutions.  He 
thus  pathetically  expresses  himself, — 'Surely  I  shall  not 
spend  my  whole  life  with  my  own  total  disa,pprobation.' 

Mr.  Macbean,  whom  I  have  mentioned  more  than  once,  as 
one  of  Johnson's  humble  friends,  a  deserving  but  unfortunate 
man,  being  now  oppressed  by  age  and  poverty,  Johnson 
solicited  the  Lord  Chancellor  Thurlow,  to  have  him  ad- 
mitted into  the  Charterhouse.  I  take  the  liberty  to  insert 
his  Lordship's  answer,  as  I  am  eager  to  embrace  every  oc- 
casion of  augmenting  the  respectable  notion  which  should 
ever  be  entertained  of  my  illustrious  friend: — 

'To  De.  Samuel  Johnson. 

'Sir,  'London,  October  24,  1780. 

'I  have  this  moment  received  your  letter,  dated  the 
19th,  and  returned  from  Bath. 

'  In  the  beginning  of  the  summer  I  placed  one  in  the  Char- 
treux,  without  the  sanction  of  a  recommendation  so  distinct 
and  so  authoritative  as  yours  of  Macbean;  and  I  am  afraid, 
that  according  to  the  establishment  of  the  House,  the  opp)or- 
tunity  of  making  the  charity  so  good  amends  will  not  soon 
recur.  But  whenever  a  vacancy  shall  happen,  if  you'll 
favour  me  with  notice  of  it,  I  will  try  to  recommend  him  to 


LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i78» 

the  place,  even  though  it  should  not  be  my  turn  to  nominate. 
I  am,  Sir,  with  great  regard,  your  most  faithful  and  obedient 
servant,  '  Thurlo  w , ' 

Being  disappointed  in  my  hopes  of  meeting  Johnson  this 
year,  so  that  I  could  hear  "none  of  his  admirable  sayings^ 
I  shall  compensate  for  this  want  by  inserting  a  collection 
of  them,  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  my  worthy  friend  Mr. 
Langton,  whose  kind  communications  have  been  separately 
interwoven  in  many  parts  of  this  work.  Very  few  articles 
of  this  collection  were  committed  to  writing  by  himself,  he 
not  having  that  habit;  which  he  regrets,  and  which  those 
who  know  the  numerous  opportunities  he  had  of  gathering 
the  rich  fruits  of  Johnsonian  wit  and  wisdom,  must  ever  re- 
gret. I  however  found,  in  conversations  with  him,  that  a 
good  store  of  Johnsoniana  was  treasured  in  his  mind;  and  I 
compared  it  to  Herculaneum,  or  some  old  Roman  field, 
which  when  dug,  fully  rewards  the  labour  employed.  The 
authenticity  of  every  article  is  unquestionable.  For  the  ex- 
pression, I,  who  wrote  them  down  in  his  presence,  am  partly 
answerable. 

'There  is  nothing  more  likely  to  betray  a  man  into  ab- 
surdity than  condescension;  when  he  seems  to  suppose  his 
understanding  too  powerful  for  his  company.' 

'Having  asked  Mr.  Langton  if  his  father  and  mother  had 
sat  for  their  pictures,  which  he  thought  it  right  for  each 
generation  of  a  family  to  do,  and  being  told  they  had  op- 
posed it,  he  said,  "Sir,  among  the  anfractuosities  of  the 
human  mind,  I  know  not  if  it  may  not  be  one,  that  there  is 
a  superstitious  reluctance  to  sit  for  a  picture.'" 

'John  Gilbert  Cooper  related,  that  soon  after  the  publica- 
tion of  his  Dictionary,  Garrick  being  asked  by  Johnson  what 
people  said  of  it,  told  him,  that  among  other  animadver- 
sions, it  was  objected  that  he  cited  authorities  which  were 
beneath  the  dignity  of  such  a  work,  and  mentioned  Richard- 
son. "Nay,  (said  Johnson,)  I  have  done  worse  than  that: 
I  have  cited  thee,  David."' 

'When  in  good  humour  he  would  talk  of  his  own  writings 
with  a  wonderful  frankness  and  candour,  and  would  even 


1780]  IN  THE  GREEN  ROOM  437 

criticise  them  with  the  closest  severity.  One  day,  having 
read  over  one  of  his  Ramblers,  Mr.  Langton  asked  him,  how 
he  liked  that  paper;  he  shook  his  head,  and  answered,  "too 
wordy."  At  another  time,  when  one  was  reading  his  tragedy 
of  Irene  to  a  company  at  a  house  in  the  country,  he  left  the 
room;  and  somebody  having  asked  him  the  reason  of  this, 
he  replied,  "Sir,  I  thought  it  had  been  better."' 

'He  related,  that  he  had  once  in  a  dream  a  contest  of  wit 
with  some  other  person,  and  that  he  was  very  much  morti- 
fied by  imagining  that  his  opponent  had  the  better  of  him. 
"Now,  (said  he,)  one  may  mark  here  the  effect  of  sleep  in 
weakening  the  power  of  reflection;  for  had  not  my  judge- 
ment failed  me,  I  should  have  seen,  that  the  wit  of  this 
supposed  antagonist,  by  whose  superiority  I  felt  myself 
depressed,  was  as  much  furnished  by  me,  as  that  which  I 
thought  I  had  been  uttering  in  my  own  character."' 

'Of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  he  said,  "Sir,  I  know  no  man 
who  has  passed  through  life  with  more  observation  than 
Reynolds.'" 

'He  repeated  to  Mr.  Langton,  with  great  energy,  in  the 
Greek,  our  Saviour's  gracious  expression  concerning  the 
forgiveness  of  Mary  Magdalen,  'H  xfart?  aou  adawxi  as-  xopeuou 
££<;  sfpT)VT]v.  "Thy  faith  hath  saved  thee;  go  in  peace."  He 
said,  "  the  manner  of  this  dismission  is  exceedingly  affecting." ' 

'Talking  of  the  Farce  of  High  Life  below  Stairs,  he  said, 
"Here  is  a  Farce,  which  is  really  very  diverting  when  you 
see  it  acted;  and  yet  one  may  read  it,  and  not  know  that 
one  has  been  reading  any  thing  at  all."' 

'  He  used  at  one  time  to  go  occasionally  to  the  green  room 
of  Drury-lane  Theatre,  where  he  was  much  regarded  by  the 
players,  and  was  very  easy  and  facetious  with  them.  He 
had  a  very  high  opinion  of  Mrs.  Olive's  comick  powers,  and 
conversed  more  with  her  than  with  any  of  them.  He  said, 
"Clive,  Sir,  is  a  good  thing  to  sit  by;  she  always  under- 
stands what  you  say."  And  she  said  of  him,  "I  love  to  sit 
by  Dr.  Johnson;  he  always  entertains  me."  One  night, 
when  The  Recruiting  Officer  was  acted,  he  said  to  Mr.  Hol- 
land, who  had  been  expressing  an  apprehension  that  Dr. 
Johnson  would  disdain  the  works  of  Farquhar;    "No,  Sir, 


LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i780 

I  think  Farquhar  a  man  whose  writings  have  considerable 
merit.'" 

'His  friend  Garrick  was  so  busy  in  conducting  the  drama, 
that  they  could  not  have  so  much  intercourse  as  Mr.  Garrick 
used  to  profess  an  anxious  wish  that  there  should  be.  There 
might,  indeed,  be  something  in  the  contemptuous  severity 
as  to  the  merit  of  acting,  which  his  old  preceptor  nourished 
in  himself,  that  would  mortify  Garrick  after  the  great  apn 
plause  which  he  received  from  the  audience.  For  though 
Johnson  said  of  him,  "Sir,  a  man  who  has  a  nation  to  admire 
him  every  night,  may  well  be  expected  to  be  somewhat 
elated;"  yet  he  would  treat  theatrical  matters  with  a  ludi- 
crous slight.  He  mentioned  one  evening,  "I  met  David 
coming  off  the  stage,  drest  in  a  woman's  riding-hood,  when 
he  acted  in  The  Wonder ;  I  came  full  upon  him,  and  I  beheve 
he  was  not  pleased.'" 

'Once  he  asked  Tom  Davies,  whom  he  saw  drest  in  a  fine 
suit  of  clothes,  "And  what  art  thou  to-night?"  Tom  an- 
swered, "The  Thane  of  Ross;"  (which  it  will  be  recollected 
is  a  very  inconsiderable  character.)  "0  brave!"  said 
Johnson,' 

y  'Of  Mr.  Longley,  at  Rochester,  a  gentleman  of  very  con- 
siderable learning,  whom  Dr.  Johnson  met  there,  he  said, 
"My  heart  warms  towards  him.  I  was  surprised  to  find  in 
him  such  a  nice  acquaintance  with  the  metre  in  the  learned 
languages;  though  I  was  somewhat  mortified  that  I  had  it 
not  so  much  to  myself,  as  I  should  have  thought."' 

'Talking  of  the  minuteness  with  which  people  wiU  record 
the  sayings  of  eminent  persons,  a  story  was  told,  that  when 
Pope  was  on  a  visit  to  Spence  at  Oxford,  as  they  looked  from 
the  window  they  saw  a  Gentleman  Commoner,  who  was  just 
come  in  from  riding,  amusing  himself  with  whipping  at  a 
post.  Pope  took  occasion  to  say,  "That  young  gentleman 
seems  to  have  little  to  do."  Mr.  Beauclerk  observed,  "  Then, 
to  be  sure,  Spence  turned  round  and  wrote  that  down;"  and 
went  on  to  say  to  Dr.  Johnson,  "Pope,  Sir,  would  have  said 
the  same  of  you,  if  he  had  seen  you  distilling."  Johnson. 
"  Sir,  if  Pope  had  told  me  of  my  distilling,  I  would  have  told 
him  of  his  grotto.'" 


1780]  AFFECTION  FOR  BEAUCLERK  439 

'He  would  allow  no  settled  indulgence  of  idleness  upon 
principle,  and  always  repelled  every  attempt  to  urge  ex- 
cuses for  it.  A  friend  one  day  suggested,  that  it  was  not 
wholesome  to  study  soon  after  dinner.  Johnson.  "Ah, 
Sir,  don't  give  way  to  such  a  fancy.  At  one  time  of  my 
life  I  had  taken  it  into  my  head  that  it  was  not  wholesome 
to  study  between  breakfast  and  dinner.'" 

'Dr.  Goldsmith,  upon  occasion  of  Mrs.  Lennox's  bringing 
out  a  play,  said  to  Dr.  Johnson  at  the  club,  that  a  person 
had  advised  him  to  go  and  hiss  it,  because  she  had  attacked 
Shakspeare  in  her  book  called  Shakspeare  Illustrated.  John- 
son. "And  did  not  you  tell  him  he  was  a  rascal?"  Gold- 
smith. "No,  Sir,  I  did  not.  Perhaps  he  might  not  mean 
what  he  said."  Johnson.  "Nay,  Sir,  if  he  lied,  it  is  a 
different  thing."  Colman  slily  said,  (but  it  is  believed  Dr. 
Johnson  did  not  hear  him,)  "Then  the  proper  expression 
should  have  been, — Sir,  if  you  don't  lie,  you're  a  rascal."' 

'His  affection  for  Topham  Beauclerk  was  so  great,  that 
when  Beauclerk  was  labouring  under  that  severe  illness 
which  at  last  occasioned  his  death,  Johnson  said,  (with  a 
voice  faultering  with  emotion,)  "Sir,  I  would  walk  to  the 
extent  of  the  diameter  of  the  earth  to  save  Beauclerk.'" 

'Johnson  was  well  acquainted  with  Mr.  Dossie,  authour 
of  a  treatise  on  Agriculture;  and  said  of  him,  "Sir,  of  the 
objects  which  the  Society  of  Arts  have  chiefly  in  view,  the 
chymical  effects  of  bodies  operating  upon  other  bodies,  he 
knows  more  than  almost  any  man."  Johnson,  in  order  to 
give  Mr.  Dossie  his  vote  to  be  a  member  of  this  Society, 
paid  up  an  arrear  which  had  run  on  for  two  years.  On  this 
occasion  he  mentioned  a  circumstance  as  characteristick  of 
the  Scotch.  "One  of  that  nation,  (said  he,)  who  had  been 
a  candidate,  against  whom  I  had  voted,  came  up  to  me  with 
a  civil  salutation.  Now,  Sir,  this  is  their  way.  An  English- 
man would  have  stomached  it,  and  been  sulky,  and  never 
have  taken  further  notice  of  you;  but  a  Scotchman,  Sir, 
though  you  vote  nineteen  times  against  him,  will  accost 
you  with  equal  complaisance  after  each  time,  and  the  twen- 
tieth time,  Sir,  he  will  get  your  vote."' 

'Talking  on  the  subject  of  toleration,  one  day  when  some 


^m  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i780 

friends  were  with  him  in  his  study,  he  made  his  usual  re- 
mark, that  the  State  has  a  right  to  regulate  the  religion  of 
the  people,  who  are  the  children  of  the  State.  A  clergy- 
man having  readily  acquiesced  in  this,  Johnson,  who  loved 
<iiscussion,  observed,  "But,  Sir,  you  must  go  round  to  other 
■States  than  your  own.  You  do  not  know  what  a  Bramin 
has  to  say  for  himself.  In  short.  Sir,  I  have  got  no  further 
than  this:  Every  man  has  a  right  to  utter  what  he  thinks 
truth,  and  every  other  man  has  a  right  to  knock  him  down 
for  it.     Martyrdom  is  the  test.'" 

'Goldsmith  one  day  brought  to  the  club  a  printed  Ode, 
which  he,  with  others,  had  been  hearing  read  by  its  authour 
in  a  publick  room  at  the  rate  of  five  shillings  each  for  ad- 
mission. One  of  the  company  having  read  it  aloud.  Dr. 
Johnson  said,  "Bolder  words  and  more  timorous  meaning,  I 
think  never  were  brought  together." 

'Talking  of  Gray's  Odes,  he  said,  "They  are  forced  plants 
raised  in  a  hot-bed;  and  they  are  poor  plants;  they  are  but 
cucumbers  after  all."  A  gentleman  present,  who  had  been 
running  down  Ode-writing  in  general,  as  a  bad  species  of 
poetry,  unluckily  said,  "Had  they  been  literally  cucumbers, 
they  had  been  better  things  than  Odes." — "Yes,  Sir,  (said 
Johnson,)  for  a  hog."' 

'It  is  very  remarkable,  that  he  retained  in  his  memory 
very  slight  and  trivial,  as  well  as  important  things.  As  an 
instance  of  this,  it  seems  that  an  inferiour  domestick  of  the 
Duke  of  Leeds  had  attempted  to  celebrate  his  Grace's  mar- 
riage in  such  homely  rhimes  as  he  could  make;  and.  this 
curious  composition  having  been  sung  to  Dr.  Johnson  he 
got  it  by  heart,  and  used  to  repeat  it  in  a  very  pleasant 
manner.    Two  of  the  stanzas  were  these: — 

"  When  the  Duke  of  Leeds  shall  married  be 
To  a  fine  young  lady  of  high  quality, 
How  happy  will  that  gentlewoman  be 
In  hi.s  Grace  of  Leeds's  good  company. 

She  shall  have  all  that's  fine  and  fair. 
And  the  best  of  silk  and  satin  shall  wear; 
And  ride  in  a  coach  to  take  the  air. 
And  have  a  house  in  St.  James's-square." 


1780]  CONTEMPT  FOR  FOREIGNERS  441 

To  hear  a  man,  of  the  weight  and  dignity  of  Johnson,  re- 
peating such  humble  attempts  at  poetry,  had  a  very  amus- 
ing effect.  He,  however,  seriously  observed  of  the  last  stanza 
repeated  by  him,  that  it  nearly  comprized  all  the  advantages 
that  wealth  can  give.' 

'An  eminent  foreigner,  when  he  was  shewn  the  British 
Museum,  was  very  troublesome  with  many  absurd  inquiries. 
"Now  there,  Sir,  (said  he,)  is  the  difference  between  an 
Englishman  and  a  Frenchman.  A  Frenchman  must  be 
alwaj^s  talking,  whether  he  knows  any  thing  of  the  matter 
or  not;  an  Englishman  is  content  to  say  nothing,  when  he 
has  nothing  to  say." 

'His  unjust  contempt  for  foreigners  was,  indeed,  extreme. 
One  evening,  at  old  Slaughter's  coffee-house,  when  a  number 
of  them  were  talking  loud  about  little  matters,  he  said, 
"Does  not  this  confirm  old  Meynell's  observation — For  any 
thing  I  see,  foreigners  are  fools.'" 

'He  said,  that  once,  when  he  had  a  violent  tooth-ache,  a. 
Frenchman  accosted  him  thus: — "Ah,  Monsieur  vous  etvdiez 
trop."' 

'  Colman,  in  a  note  on  his  translation  of  Terence,  talking  of 
Shakspeare's  learning,  asks,  "What  says  Farmer  to  this? 
What  says  Johnson?"  Upon  this  he  observed,  "Sir,  let 
Farmer  answer  for  himself:  /  never  engaged  in  this  contro- 
versy. I  always  said,  Shakspeare  had  Latin  enough  to  gram- 
maticise  his  English."' 

'A  clergyman,  whom  he  characterised  as  one  who  loved  to 
say  little  oddities,  was  affecting  one  day,  at  a  Bishop's  table, 
a  sort  of  slyness  and  freedom  not  in  character,  and  repeated^ 
as  if  part  of  The  Old  Man's  Wish,  a  song  by  Dr.  Walter  Pope, 
a  verse  bordering  on  licentiousness.  Johnson  rebuked  him 
in  the  finest  maimer,  by  first  shewing  him  that  he  did  not 
know  the  passage  he  was  aiming  at,  and  thus  humbling  him: 
"Sir,  that  is  not  the  song:  it  is  thus."  And  he  gave  it  right. 
Then  looking  stedfastly  on  him,  "Sir,  there  is  a  part  of  that 
song  which  I  should  wish  to  exemplify  in  my  own  life: — 

"May  I  govern  lay  passions  with  absolute  sway!'" 

'He  used  frequently  to  observe,  that  men  might  be  very 
eminent  in  a  profession,  without  our  perceiving  any  particu- 


442  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i780 

lar  power  of  mind  in  them  in  conversation.  "It  seems 
strange  (said  he,)  that  a  man  should  see  so  far  to  the  right, 
who  sees  so  short  a  way  to  the  left.  Burke  is  the  only  man 
whose  common  conversation  corresponds  with  the  general 
fame  which  he  has  in  the  world.  Take  up  whatever  topick 
you  please,  he  is  ready  to  meet  you.'" 

*Mr.  Langton,  when  a  very  young  man,  read  Dodsley's 
Cleone,  a  Tragedy,  to  him,  not  aware  of  his  extreme  impa- 
tience to  be  read  to.  As  it  went  on  he  turned  his  face  to  the 
back  of  his  chair,  and  put  himself  into  various  attitudes, 
which  marked  his  uneasiness.  At  the  end  of  an  act,  how- 
ever, he  said,  "Come  let's  have  some  more,  let's  go  into  the 
slaughter-house  again,  Lanky.  But  I  am  afraid  there  is 
more  blood  than  brains." 

'  Snatches  of  reading  (said  he,)  will  not  make  a  Bentley  or 
a  Clarke.  They  are,  however,  in  a  certain  degree  advan- 
tageous. I  would  put  a  child  into  a  library  (where  no  unfit 
books  are)  and  let  him  read  at  his  choice.  A  child  should 
not  be  discouraged  from  reading  any  thing  that  he  takes  a 
Uking  to,  from  a  notion  that  it  is  above  his  reach.  If  that 
be  the  case,  the  child  will  soon  find  it  out  and  desist;  if  not, 
he  of  course  gains  the  instruction;  which  is  so  much  the 
more  likely  to  come,  from  the  inclination  with  which  he  takes 
up  the  study.' 

'A  gentleman  who  introduced  his  brother  to  Dr.  Johnson 
was  earnest  to  recommend  him  to  the  Doctor's  notice,  which 
he  did  by  saying,  "When  we  have  sat  together  some  time, 
you'll  find  my  brother  grow  very  entertaining." — "Sir,  (said 
Johnson,)  I  can  wait.'" 

'In  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  in  order  to  satisfy  himself 
whether  his  mental  faculties  were  impaired,  he  resolved 
that  he  would  try  to  learn  a  new  language,  and  fixed  upon 
the  Low  Dutch,  for  that  purpose,  and  this  he  continued  till 
he  had  read  about  one  half  of  Thomas  d,  Kempis;  and  find- 
ing that  there  appeared  no  abatement  of  his  power  of  ac- 
quisition, he  then  desisted,  as  thinking  the  experiment  had 
been  duly  tried.' 

'Mr.  Langton  and  he  having  gone  to  see  a  Freemason's 
funeral  procession,  when  they  were  at  Rochester,  and  some 


17801      SHAKSPEARE  AND  'PANTING  TIME'      443 

solemn  musick  being  played  on  French  horns,  he  said,  "This 
is  the  first  time  that  I  have  ever  been  affected  by  musical 
sounds;"  adding,  "that  the  impression  made  upon  him  was 
of  a  melancholy  kind."  Mr.  Langton  saying,  that  this  effect 
was  a  fine  one, — Johnson.  "Yes,  if  it  softens  the  mind,  so 
as  to  prepare  it  for  the  reception  of  salutary  feelings,  it 
may  be  good:  but  inasmuch  as  it  is  melancholy  -per  se,  it  is 
bad."' 

'Goldsmith  had  long  a  visionary  project,  that  some  time 
or  other  when  his  circumstances  should  be  easier,  he  would 
go  to  Aleppo,  in  order  to  acquire  a  knowledge  as  far  as 
might  be  of  any  arts  peculiar  to  the  East,  and  introduce 
them  into  Britain.  When  this  was  talked  of  in  Dr.  Johnson's 
company,  he  said,  "Of  all  men  Goldsmith  is  the  most  unfit 
to  go  out  upon  such  an  inquiry;  for  he  is  utterly  ignorant  of 
such  arts  as  we  already  possess,  and  consequently  could 
not  know  what  would  be  accessions  to  our  present  stock  of 
mechanical  knowledge.  Sir,  he  would  bring  home  a  grind- 
ing barrow,  which  you  see  in  every  street  in  London,  and 
think  that  he  had  furnished  a  wonderful  improvement.'" 

'Greek,  Sir,  (said  he,)  is  like  lace;  every  man  gets  as  much 
of  it  as  he  can.' 

'Johnson  one  day  gave  high  praise  to  Dr.  Bentley's  verses 
in  Dodsley's  Collection,  which  he  recited  with  his  usual  en- 
ergy. Dr.  Adam  Smith,  who  was  present,  observed  in  his 
decisive  professorial  manner,  "Very  well — ^Very  well." 
Johnson  however  added,  "Yes,  they  are  very  well.  Sir;  but 
you  may  observe  in  what  manner  they  are  well.  They  are 
the  forcible  verses  of  a  man  of  a  strong  mind,  but  not  accus- 
tomed to  write  verse;  for  there  is  some  uncouthness  in  the 
expression."' 

'  Drinking  tea  one  day  at  Garrick's  with  Mr.  Langton,  he 
was  questioned  if  he  was  not  somewhat  of  a  heretick  as  to 
Shakspeare;  said  Garrick,  "  I  doubt  he  is  a  little  of  an  infidel." 
— "Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  I  will  stand  by  the  lines  I  have 
written  on  Shakspeare  in  my  Prologue  at  the  opening  of  your 
Theatre."     Mr.  Langton  suggested,  that  in  the  line 

"And  panting  Time  toil'd  after  him  in  vain," 


444  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i780 

Johnson  might  have  had  in  his  eye  the  passage  in  The  Tem- 
pest, where  Prospero  says  of  A'liranda, 


" She  will  outstrip  all  praise, 

And  make  it  halt  behind  her." 

Johnson  said  nothing.  Garrick  then  ventured  to  observe, 
"I  do  not  think  that  the  happiest  line  in  the  praise  of  Shak- 
speare."  Johnson  exclaimed  (smiling,)  "Prosaical  rogues! 
next  time  I  write,  I'll  make  both  time  and  space  pant.'" 

'It  is  well  known  that  there  was  formerly  a  rude  custom 
for  those  who  were  sailing  upon  the  Thames,  to  accost  each 
other  as  they  passed,  in  the  most  abusive  language  they 
could  invent,  generally,  however,  with  as  much  satirical 
humour  as  they  were  capable  of  producing.  Addison  gives 
a  specimen  of  this  ribaldry,  in  Number  383  of  The  SpectaioTy 
when  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly  and  he  are  going  to  Spring-garden. 
Johnson  was  once  eminently  successful  in  this  species  of  con- 
test; a  fellow  having  attacked  him  with  some  coarse  raillery, 
Johnson  answered  him  thus,  "Sir,  your  wife,  under  pretence 
of  keeping  a  haxvdy-house,  is  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods."  One 
evening  when  he  and  Mr.  Burke  and  Mr.  Langton  were  in 
company  together,  and  the  admirable  scolding  of  Timon  of 
Athens  was  mentioned,  this  instance  of  Johnson's  was 
quoted,  and  thought  to  have  at  least  equal  excellence.' 

'As  Johnson  always  allowed  the  extraordinary  talents  of 
Mr.  Burke,  so  Mr.  Burke  was  fully  sensible  of  the  wonderful 
powers  of  Johnson.  Mr.  Langton  recollects  having  passed 
an  evening  with  both  of  them,  when  Mr.  Burke  repeatedly 
entered  upon  topicks  which  it  was  evident  he  would  have 
illustrated  with  extensive  knowledge  and  richness  of  ex- 
pression; but  Johnson  always  seized  upon  the  conversation, 
in  which,  however,  he  acquitted  himself  in  a  most  masterly 
manner.  As  Mr.  Burke  and  Mr.  Langton  were  walking 
home,  Mr.  Burke  observed  that  Johnson  had  been  very  great 
that  night;  Mr.  Langton  joined  in  this,  but  added,  he  could 
have  wished  to  hear  more  from  another  person;  (plainly 
intimating  that  he  meant  Mr.  Burke.)  "O,  no  (said  Mr. 
Burke,)  it  is  enough  for  me  to  have  rung  the  bell  to  him."' 


1780]  RICHARDSON'S  CONVERSATION  445 

'Beauclerk  having  observed  to  him  of  one  of  their  friends, 
that  he  was  aukward  at  counting  money,  "Why,  Sir,  (said 
Johnson,)  I  am  hkewise  aukward  at  counting  money.  But 
then,  Sir,  the  reason  is  plain;  I  have  had  very  little  money 
to  count."' 

'  Goldsmith,  upon  being  visited  by  Johnson  one  day  in  the 
Temple,  said  to  him  with  a  little  jealousy  of  the  appearance 
of  his  accommodation,  "I  shall  soon  be  in  better  chambers 
than  these."  Johnson  at  the  same  time  checked  him  and 
paid  him  a  handsome  compliment,  implying  that  a  man  of 
his  talents  should  be  above  attention  to  such  distinctions, — 
"Nay,  Sir,  never  mind  that.    Nil  te  quaesiveris  extra."' 

'  When  Mr.  Vesey  was  proposed  as  a  member  of  the  Lite- 
rary Club,  Mr.  Burke  began  by  saying  that  he  was  a  man 
of  gentle  manners.  "Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  you  need  say  no 
more.  When  you  have  said  a  man  of  gentle  manners;  yoa 
have  said  enough."' 

'The  late  Mr.  Fitzherbert  told  Mr.  Langton  that  Johnson 
said  to  him,  "Sir,  a  man  has  no  more  right  to  say  an  uncivil 
thing,  than  to  act  one;  no  more  right  to  say  a  rude  thing  to 
another  than  to  knock  him  down."' 

'Richardson  had  little  conversation,  except  about  his  own 
works,  of  which  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  said  he  was  always 
willing  to  talk,  and  glad  to  have  them  introduced.  Johnson 
when  he  carried  Mr.  Langton  to  see  him,  professed  that  he 
could  bring  him  out  into  conversation,  and  used  this  allusive 
expression,  "Sir,  I  can  make  him  rear."  But  he  failed;  for 
in  that  interview  Richardson  said  Uttle  else  than  that  there 
lay  in  the  room  a  translation  of  his  Clarissa  into  German.' 

'Once  when  somebody  produced  a  newspaper  in  which 
there  was  a  letter  of  stupid  abuse  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  of 
which  Johnson  himself  came  in  for  a  share, — "Pray,"  said 
he,  "let  us  have  it  read  aloud  from  beginning  to  end;"  which 
being  done,  he  with  a  ludicrous  earnestness,  and  not  directing 
his  look  to  any  particular  person,  called  out,  "Are  we  alive 
after  all  this  satire ! " ' 

'Of  Dr.  Goldsmith  he  said,  "No  man  was  more  foolish, 
when  he  had  not  a  pen  in  his  hand,  or  more  wise  when  he 
had."' 


446  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i780 

'An  observation  of  Bathurst's  may  be  mentioned,  which 
Johnson  repeated,  appearing  to  acknowledge  it  to  be  well 
founded,  namely,  it  was  somewhat  remarkable  how  seldom, 
on  occasion  of  coming  into  the  company  of  any  new  person, 
one  felt  any  wish  or  inclination  to  see  him  again.' 

1781:  ^TAT.  72.] — In  1781  Johnson  at  last  completed  his 
Lives  of  the  Poets,  of  which  he  gives  this  account:  'Some 
time  in  March  I  finished  the  Lives  of  the  Poets,  which  I  wrote 
in  my  usual  way,  dilatorily  and  hastily,  unwilling  to  work, 
and  working  with  vigour  and  haste.'  In  a  memorandum 
previous  to  this,  he  says  of  them:  'Written,  I  hope,  in  such 
a  manner  as  may  tend  to  the  promotion  of  piety.' 

The  booksellers,  justly  sensible  of  the  great  additional 
value  of  the  copy-right,  presented  him  with  another  hundred 
pounds,  over  and  above  two  hundred,  for  which  his  agree- 
ment was  to  furnish  such  prefaces  as  he  thought  fit. 

As  he  was  so  good  as  to  make  me  a  present  of  the  greatest 
part  of  the  original  and  indeed  only  manuscript  of  this  ad- 
mirable work,  I  have  an  opportunity  of  observing  with  won- 
der, the  correctness  with  which  he  rapidly  struck  off  such 
glowing  composition. 

The  Life  of  Cowley  he  himself  considered  as  the  best  of 
the  whole,  on  account  of  the  dissertation  which  it  contains 
on  the  Metaphysical  Poets. 

While  the  world  in  general  was  filled  with  admiration  of 
Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets,  there  were  narrow  circles  in 
which  prejudice  and  resentment  were  fostered,  and  from 
which  attacks  of  different  sorts  issued  against  him.  By 
some  violent  Whigs  he  was  arraigned  of  injustice  to  Milton; 
by  some  Cambridge  men  of  depreciating  Gray;  and  his  ex- 
pressing with  a  dignified  freedom  what  he  really  thought  of 
George,  Lord  Lyttelton,  gave  offence  to  some  of  the  friends 
of  that  nobleman,  and  particularly  produced  a  declaration 
of  war  against  him  from  Mrs.  Montagu,  the  ingenious  Essay- 
ist on  Shakspeare,  between  whom  and  his  Lordship  a  com- 
merce of  reciprocal  compUments  had  long  been  carried  on. 
In  this  war  the  smaller  p>owers  in  alliance  with  him  were  of 
course  led  to  engage,  at  least  on  the  defensive,  and  thus  I 
for  one  was  excluded  from  the  enjoyment  of  'A  Feast  of 


1781]  LIBERTY  AND   NECESSITY  447 

Reason,'  such  as  Mr.  Cumberland  has  described,  with  a 
keen,  yet  just  and  deUcate  pen,  in  his  Observer.  These 
minute  inconveniences  gave  not  the  least  disturbance  to 
Johnson.  He  nobly  said,  when  I  talked  to  him  of  the  feeble, 
though  shrill  outcry  which  had  been  raised,  '  Sir,  I  considered 
myself  as  entrusted  with  a  certain  portion  of  truth.  I  have 
given  my  opinion  sincerely;  let  them  shew  where  they  think 
me  wrong.' 

I  wrote  to  him  in  February,  complaining  of  having  been 
troubled  by  a  recurrence  of  the  perplexing  question  6f 
Liberty  and  Necessity; — and  mentioning  that  I  hoped  soon 
to  meet  him  again  in  London. 

'To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

*  Dear  Sir, — I  hoped  you  had  got  rid  of  all  this  hypocrisy 
of  misery.  What  have  you  to  do  with  Liberty  and  Neces- 
sity? Or  what  more  than  to  hold  your  tongue  about  it? 
Do  not  doubt  but  I  shall  be  most  heartily  glad  to  see  you 
here  again,  for  I  love  every  part  about  you  but  your  affecta- 
tion of  distress. 

'  I  have  at  last  finished  my  Lives,  and  have  laid  up  for  you 
a  load  of  copy,  all  out  of  order,  so  that  it  will  amuse  you  a 
long  time  to  set  it  right.  Come  to  me,  my  dear  Bozzy,  and 
let  us  be  as  happy  as  we  can.  We  will  go  again  to  the 
Mitre,  and  talk  old  times  over.  I  am,  dear  Sir,  yours  affec- 
tionately, 

'March  14,  178L*  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

On  Monday,  March  19,  I  arrived  in  London,  and  on  Tues- 
day, the  20th,  met  him  in  Fleet-street,  walking,  or  rather 
indeed  moving  along;  for  his  peculiar  march  is  thus  de- 
scribed in  a  very  just  and  picturesque  manner,  in  a  short 
Life  of  him  published  very  soon  after  his  death: — 'When  he 
walked  the  streets,  what  with  the  constant  roll  of  his  head, 
and  the  concomitant  motion  of  his  body,  he  appeared  to 
make  his  way  by  that  motion,  independent  of  his  feet.' 
That  he  was  often  much  stared  at  while  he  advanced  in  this 
manner,  may  easily  be  beUeved;  but  it  was  not  safe  to  make 


448  LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [i78i 

sport  of  one  so  robust  as  he  was.  Mr.  Langton  saw  him  one 
day,  in  a  fit  of  absence,  by  a  sudden  start,  drive  the  load  off 
a  porter's  back,  and  walk  forward  briskly,  without  being 
conscious  of  what  he  had  done.  The  porter  was  very  angry, 
but  stood  still,  and  eyed  the  huge  figure  with  much  earnest- 
ness, till  he  was  satisfied  that  his  wisest  course  was  to  be 
quiet,  and  take  up  his  burthen  again. 

Our  accidental  meeting  in  the  street  after  a  long  separa- 
tion was  a  pleasing  surprize  to  us  both.  He  stepped  aside 
with  me  into  Falcon-court,  and  made  kind  inquiries  about 
my  family,  and  as  we  were  in  a  hurry  going  different  ways, 
T  promised  to  call  on  him  next  day;  he  said  he  was  engaged 
to  go  out  in  the  morning.  'Early,  Sir?'  said  I.  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  a  London  morning  does  not  go  with  the  sun.' 

I  waited  on  him  next  evening,  and  he  gave  me  a  great  por- 
tion of  his  original  manuscript  of  his  Lives  of  the  Poets,  which 
he  had  preserved  for  me. 

I  found  on  visiting  his  friend,  Mr.  Thrale,  that  he  was  now 
very  ill,  and  had  removed,  I  suppose  by  the  solicitation  of 
Mrs.  Thrale,  to  a  house  in  Grosvenor-square.  I  was  sorry  to 
see  him  sadly  changed  in  his  appearance. 

He  told  me  I  might  now  have  the  pleasure  to  see  Dr. 
Johnson  drink  wine  again,  for  he  had  lately  returned  to  it. 
When  I  mentioned  this  to  Johnson,  he  said,  'I  drink  it  now 
sometimes,  but  not  socially.'  The  first  evening  that  I  was 
with  him  at  Thrale's,  I  observed  he  poured  a  large  quantity 
of  it  into  a  glass,  and  swallowed  it  greedily.  Every  thing 
about  his  character  and  manners  was  forcible  and  violent; 
there  never  was  any  moderation;  many  a  day  did  he  fast, 
many  a  year  did  he  refrain  from  wine;  but  when  he  did  eat, 
it  was  voraciously;  when  he  did  drink  wine,  it  was  copiously. 
He  could  practise  abstinence,  but  not  temperance. 

Mrs.  Thrale  and  I  had  a  dispute,  whether  Shakspeare  or 
Milton  had  drawn  the  most  admirable  picture  of  a  man.» 
I  was  for  Shakspeare;  Mrs.  Thrale  for  Milton;  and  after 
a  fair  hearing,  Johnson  decided  for  my  opinion. 

>  The  passages  considered,  according  to  Bosweil's  note,  were  the 
portrait  of  Hamlet's  father  (Ham.  3.  4.  55-62),  and  the  portrait  of 
Adam  (P.  L.  4.  30O-303). — Ed. 


1781]      REVERENCE  FOR  THE  HIERARCHY        449 

I  told  him  of  one  of  Mr.  Burke's  playful  sallies  upon  Dean 
Marlay:  'I  don't  like  the  Deanery  of  Ferns,  it  sounds  so 
like  a  6arren.,  title.' — 'Dr.  Heath  should  have  it;'  said  I. 
Johnson  laughed,  and  condescending  to  trifle  in  the  same  mode 
of  conceit,  suggested  Dr.  Moss. 

He  said,  'Mrs.  Montagu  has  dropt  me.  Now,  Sir,  there 
are  people  whom  one  should  like  very  well  to  drop,  but  would 
not  wish  to  be  dropped  by.'  He  certainly  was  vain  of  the 
society  of  ladies,  and  could  make  himself  very  agreeable  to 
them,  when  he  chose  it;  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  agreed  with 
me  that  he  could.  Mr.  Gibbon,  with  his  usual  sneer,  contro- 
verted it,  perhaps  in  resentment  of  Johnson's  having  talked 
with  some  disgust  of  his  ugliness,  which  one  would  think  a 
philosopher  would  not  mind.  Dean  Marlay  wittily  observed, 
'A  lady  may  be  vain,  when  she  can  turn  a  wolf-dog  into  a 
lap-dog.' 

His  notion  of  the  duty  of  a  member  of  Parliament,  sitting 
upon  an  election-committee,  was  very  high;  and  when  he 
was  told  of  a  gentleman  upon  one  of  those  committees,  who 
read  the  newspapers  part  of  the  time,  and  slept  the  rest, 
while  the  merits  of  a  vote  were  examined  by  the  counsel; 
and  as  an  excuse,  when  challenged  by  the  chairman  for  such 
behaviour,  bluntly  answered,  '  I  had  made  up  my  mind  upon 
that  case.' — Johnson,  with  an  indignant  contempt,  said,  'If 
he  was  such  a  rogue  as  to  make  up  his  mind  upon  a  case 
without  hearing  it,  he  should  not  have  been  such  a  fool  as 
to  tell  it.'  'I  think  (said  Mr.  Dudley  Long,  now  North,)  the 
Doctor  has  pretty  plainly  made  him  out  to  be  both  rogue 
and  fool.' 

Johnson's  profound  reverence  for  the  Hierarchy  made  him 
expect  from  bishops  the  highest  degree  of  decorum;  he  was 
offended  even  at  their  going  to  taverns;  'A  bishop  (said  he,) 
has  nothing  to  do  at  a  tippling-house.  It  is  not  indeed  im- 
moral in  him  to  go  to  a  tavern;  neither  would  it  be  immoral 
in  him  to  whip  a  top  in  Grosvenor-square.  But,  if  he  did, 
I  hope  the  boys  would  fall  upon  him,  and  apply  the  whip  to 
him.  There  are  gradations  in  conduct;  there  is  morality, — 
decency, — propriety.  None  of  these  should  be  violated  by 
a  bishop.    A  bishop  should  not  go  to  a  house  where  he  may 


450  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i78i 

meet  a  young  fellow  leading  out  a  wench.'  Boswell.  'But, 
Sir,  every  tavern  does  not  admit  women.'  Johnson.  'De- 
pend upon  it,  Sir,  any  tavern  will  admit  a  well-drest  man 
and  a  well-drest  woman;  they  will  not  perhaps  admit  a 
woman  whom  they  see  every  night  walking  by  their  door,  in 
the  street.  But  a  well-drest  man  may  lead  in  a  well-drest 
woman  to  any  tavern  in  London.  Taverns  sell  meat  and 
drink,  and  will  sell  them  to  any  body  who  can  eat  and  can 
drink.  You  may  as  well  say  that  a  mercer  will  not  sell  silks 
to  a  woman  of  the  town.' 

He  also  disapproved  of  bishops  going  to  routs,  at  least  of 
their  staying  at  them  longer  than  their  presence  commanded 
respect.     He  mentioned  a  particular  bishop.     'Poh!   (said 

Mrs.  Thrale,)  the  Bishop  of  is  never  minded  at  a 

rout.'  Boswell.  '  When  a  bishop  places  himself  in  a  situa- 
tion where  he  has  no  distinct  character,  and  is  of  no  con- 
sequence, he  degrades  the  dignity  of  his  order.'  Johnson. 
*  Mr.  Boswell,  Madam,  has  said  it  as  correctly  as  it  could  be.' 

Johnson  and  his  friend,  Beauclerk,  were  once  together  in 
company  with  several  clergymen,  who  thought  that  they 
should  appear  to  advantage,  by  assuming  the  lax  jollity  of 
men  of  the  world;  which,  as  it  may  be  observed  in  similar 
cases,  they  carried  to  noisy  excess.  Johnson,  who  they  ex- 
pected would  be  entertained,  sat  grave  and  silent  for  some 
time;  at  last,  turning  to  Beauclerk,  he  said,  by  no  means  in 
a  whisp>er,  'This  merriment  of  parsons  is  mighty  offensive.' 

On  Friday,  March  30,  I  dined  with  him  at  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds's,  with  the  Earl  of  Charlemont,  Sir  Annesley 
Stewart,  Mr.  Eliot  of  Port-EUot,  Mr.  Burke,  Dean  Marlay, 
Mr.  Langton;  a  most  agreeable  day,  of  which  I  regret  that 
every  circumstance  is  not  preserved;  but  it  is  unreasonable 
to  require  such  a  multiplication  of  felicity. 

Mr.  Eliot  mentioned  a  curious  liquor  peculiar  to  his 
country,  which  the  Cornish  fishermen  drink.  They  call  it 
Mahogany ;  and  it  is  made  of  two  parts  gin,  and  one  part 
treacle,  well  beaten  together.  I  begged  to  have  some  of  it 
made,  which  was  done  with  proper  skill  by  Mr.  Eliot.  I 
thought  it  very  good  liquor;  and  said  it  was  a  counterpart 
of  what  is  called  Athol  Porridge  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland, 


1781]  JOHNSON  AND   DANCING  451 

which  is  a  mixture  of  whisky  and  honey.  Johnson  said, 
'  that  must  be  a  better  liquor  than  the  Cornish,  for  both  its 
component  parts  are  better.'  He  also  observed,  ^Mahogany 
must  be  a  modern  name;  for  it  is  not  long  since  the  wood 
called  mahogany  was  known  in  this  country.'  I  mentioned 
his  scale  of  Uquors; — claret  for  boys, — port  for  men, — brandy 
for  heroes.  'Then  (said  Mr.  Burke,)  let  me  have  claret: 
I  love  to  be  a  boy;  to  have  the  careless  gaiety  of  boyish 
days.'  Johnson.  'I  should  drink  claret  too,  if  it  would 
give  me  that;  but  it  does  not:  it  neither  makes  boys  men, 
nor  men  boys.  You'll  be  drowned  by  it,  before  it  has  any 
effect  upon  you.' 

I  ventured  to  mention  a  ludicrous  paragraph  in  the  news- 
papers, that  Dr.  Johnson  was  learning  to  dance  of  Vestris. 
Lord  Charlemont,  wishing  to  excite  him  to  talk,  proposed  in 
a  whisper,  that  he  should  be  asked,  whether  it  was  true. 
'Shall  I  ask  him?'  said  his  Lordship.  We  were,  by  a  great 
majority,  clear  for  the  experiment.  Upon  which  his  Lord- 
ship very  gravely,  and  with  a  courteous  air  said,  'Pray,  Sir, 
is  it  true  that  you  are  taking  lessons  of  Vestris?'  This  was 
risking  a  good  deal,  and  required  the  boldness  of  a  General 
of  Irish  Volunteers  to  make  the  attempt.  Johnson  was  at 
first  startled,  and  in  some  heat  answered,  'How  can  your 
Lordship  ask  so  simple  a  question?'  But  immediately  re- 
covering himself,  whether  from  unwillingness  to  be  deceived, 
or  to  appear  deceived,  or  whether  from  real  good  humour, 
he  kept  up  the  joke:  'Nay,  but  if  any  body  were  to  answer 
the  paragraph,  and  contradict  it,  I'd  have  a  reply,  and  would 
say,  that  he  who  contradicted  it  was  no  friend  either  to 
Vestris  or  me.  For  why  should  not  Dr.  Johnson  add  to  his 
other  powers  a  little  corporeal  agility?  Socrates  learnt  to 
dance  at  an  advanced  age,  and  Cato  learnt  Greek  at  an  ad- 
vanced age.  Then  it  might  proceed  to  say,  that  this  John- 
son, not  content  with  dancing  on  the  ground,  might  dance 
on  the  rope;  and  they  might  introduce  the  elephant  danc- 
ing on  the  rope.' 

On  Sunday,  April  1,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Thrale's, 
with  Sir  Philip  Jennings  Clerk  and  Mr.  Perkins,  who  had 
the  superintendence  of  Mr.  Thrale's  brewery,  with  a  salary 


452  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1781 

of  five  hundred  pounds  a  year.  Sir  Philip  had  the  appear- 
ance of  a  gentleman  of  ancient  family,  well  advanced  in  life. 
He  wore  his  own  white  hair  in  a  bag  of  goodly  size,  a  black 
velvet  coat,  with  an  embroidered  waistcoat,  and  very  rich 
laced  ruffles;  which  Mrs.  Thrale  said  were  old  fashioned,  but 
which,  for  that  reason,  I  thought  the  more  respectable,  more 
like  a  Tory;  yet  Sir  Philip  was  then  in  Opposition  in  Parlia- 
ment. 'Ah,  Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  ancient  ruffles  and  modern 
principles  do  not  agree.'  Sir  Philip  defended  the  Opposition 
to  the  American  war  ably  and  with  temper,  and  I  joined 
him.  He  said,  the  majority  of  the  nation  was  against  the 
ministry.  Johnson.  '/,  Sir,  am  against  the  ministry;  but 
it  is  for  having  too  little  of  that,  of  which  Opposition  thinks 
they  have  too  much.  Were  I  minister,  if  any  man  wagged 
his  finger  against  me,  he  should  be  turned  out;  for  that 
which  it  is  in  the  power  of  Government  to  give  at  pleasure 
to  one  or  to  another,  should  be  given  to  the  supporters  of 
Government.  If  you  will  not  oppose  at  the  expence  of 
losing  your  place,  your  opposition  will  not  be  honest,  you 
will  feel  no  serious  grievance;  and  the  present  opposition  is 
only  a  contest  to  get  what  others  have.  Sir  Robert  Walpole 
acted  as  I  would  do.  As  to  the  American  war,  the  sense  of 
the  nation  is  with  the  ministry.  The  majority  of  those  who 
■can  understand  is  with  it;  the  majority  of  those  who  can 
only  hear,  is  against  it;  and  as  those  who  can  only  hear  are 
more  numerous  than  those  who  can  understand,  and  Opposi- 
tion is  always  loudest,  a  majority  of  the  rabble  will  be  for 
Opposition.' 

This  boisterous  vivacity  entertained  us;  but  the  truth  in 
my  opinion  was,  that  those  who  could  understand  the  best 
were  against  the  American  war,  as  almost  every  man  now  is, 
when  the  question  has  been  coolly  considered. 

Mrs.  Thrale  gave  high  praise  to  Mr.  Dudley  Long,  (now 
North).  Johnson.  'Nay,  my  dear  lady,  don't  talk  so. 
Mr.  Long's  character  is  very  short.  It  is  nothing.  He  fills 
&  chair.  He  is  a  man  of  genteel  appearance,  and  that  is  all. 
I  know  nobody  who  blasts  by  praise  as  you  do:  for  when- 
ever there  is  exaggerated  prai.se,  every  body  is  set  against 
a  character.    They  are  provoked  to  attack  it.    Now  there 


1781]  EXAGGERATED   PRAISE  453 

is  Pepys;  you  praised  that  man  with  such  disproportion, 
that  I  was  incited  to  lessen  him,  perhaps  more  than  he  de- 
serves. His  blood  is  upon  your  head.  By  the  same  prin- 
ciple, your  malice  defeats  itself;  for  your  censure  is  too 
violent.  And  yet,  (looking  to  her  with  a  leering  smile,)  she 
is  the  first  woman  in  the  world,  could  she  but  restrain  that 
wicked  tongue  of  hers; — she  would  be  the  only  woman,  could 
she  but  command  that  little  whirligig.' 

Upon  the  subject  of  exaggerated  praise  I  took  the  liberty 
to  say,  that  I  thought  there  might  be  very  high  praise  given 
to  a  known  character  which  deserved  it,  and  therefore  it 
would  not  be  exaggerated.  Thus,  one  might  say  of  Mr. 
Edmund  Burke,  He  is  a  very  wonderful  man.  Johnson. 
'No,  Sir,  you  would  not  be  safe  if  another  man  had  a  mind 
perversely  to  contradict.  He  might  answer,  "Where  is  all 
the  wonder?  Burke  is,  to  be  sure,  a  man  of  uncommon 
abilities,  with  a  great  quantity  of  matter  in  his  mind,  and 
a  great  fluency  of  language  in  his  mouth.  But  we  are  not  to 
be  stunned  and  astonished  by  him."  So  you  see.  Sir,  even 
Burke  would  suffer,  not  from  any  fault  of  his  own,  but  from 
your  folly.' 

Mrs.  Thrale  mentioned  a  gentleman  who  had  acquired  a 
fortune  of  four  thousand  a  year  in  trade,  but  was  absolutely 
miserable,  because  he  could  not  talk  in  company;  so  miser- 
able, that  he  was  impelled  to  lament  his  situation  in  the 
street  to  ******,  whom  he  hates,  and  who  he  knows  despises 
him.  'I  am  a  most  unhappy  man,  (said  he).  I  am  invited 
to  conversations.  I  go  to  conversations;  but,  alas!  I  have 
no  conversation.'  Johnson.  'Man  commonly  cannot  be 
successful  in  different  ways.  This  gentleman  has  spent,  in 
getting  four  thousand  pounds  a  year,  the  time  in  which  he 
might  have  learnt  to  talk;  and  now  he  cannot  talk.'  Mr. 
Perkins  made  a  shrewd  and  droll  remark:  'If  he  had  got  his 
four  thousand  a  year  as  a  mountebank,  he  might  have  learnt 
to  talk  at  the  same  time  that  he  was  getting  his  fortune.' 

Some  other  gentlemen  came  in.  The  conversation  con- 
cerning the  person  whose  character  Dr.  Johnson  had  treated 
so  slightingly,  as  he  did  not  know  his  merit,  was  resumed. 
Mrs.  Thrale  said,  'You  think  so  of  him.  Sir,  because  he  is 


454  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i78i 

quiet,  and  does  not  exert  himself  with  force.  You'll  be  say- 
ing the  same  thing  of  Mr.  *****  there,  who  sits  as  quiet — .' 
This  was  not  well-bred;  and  Johnson  did  not  let  it  pass 
without  correction.  'Nay,  Madam,  what  right  have  you 
to  talk  thus?  Both  Mr.  *****  and  I  have  reason  to  take  it 
ill.  You  may  talk  so  of  Mr.  *****;  but  why  do  you  make 
me  do  it?  Have  I  said  anything  against  Mr.  *****?  You 
have  set  him,  that  I  might  shoot  him:  but  I  have  not  shot 
him.' 

One  of  the  gentlemen  said,  he  had  seen  three  folio  volumes 
of  Dr.  Johnson's  sayings  collected  by  me.  'I  must  put  you 
right.  Sir,  (said  I,)  for  I  am  very  exact  in  authenticity.  You 
could  not  see  folio  volumes,  for  I  have  none:  you  might 
have  seen  some  in  quarto  and  octavo.  This  is  inattention 
which  one  should  guard  against.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  it  is  a 
want  of  concern  about  veracity.  He  does  not  know  that  he 
saw  any  volumes.  If  he  had  seen  them  he  could  have  re- 
membered their  size.' 

Mr.  Thrale  appeared  very  lethargick  to-day<  I  saw  him 
again  on  Monday  evening,  at  which  time  he  was  not  thought 
to  be  in  immediate  danger;  but  early  in  the  morning  of 
Wednesday,  the  4th,  he  expired.  Johnson  was  in  the  house, 
and  thus  mentions  the  event :  '  I  felt  almost  the  last  flutter 
of  his  pulse,  and  looked  for  the  last  time  upon  the  face  that 
for  fifteen  years  had  never  been  turned  upon  me  but  with 
resp>ect  and  benignity.'  Upon  that  day  there  was  a  Call  of 
The  Literary  Club;  but  Johnson  apologised  for  his  ab- 
sence by  the  following  note: — 

'Mr.  Johnson  knows  that  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  and  the 
other  gentlemen  will  excuse  his  incompliance  with  the  call, 
when  they  are  told  that  Mr.  Thrale  died  this  morning. — 
Wednesday.' 

Mr.  Thrale's  death  was  a  very  essential  loss  to  Johnson, 
who,  although  he  did  not  foresee  all  that  afterwards  hap- 
pened, was  sufficiently  convinced  that  the  comforts  which 
Mr.  Thrale's  family  afforded  him,  would  now  in  a  great 
measure  cease.  He,  however,  continued  to  shew  a  kind 
attention  to  his  widow  and  children  as  long  as  it  was  accept- 
able; and  he  took  upon  him,  with  a  very  earnest  concern, 
the  offi '?  of  one  of  his  executor^,  th°  irmortance  of  which 


1781]  JOHNSON  AN  EXECUTOR  455 

seemed  greater  than  usual  to  him,  from  his  circumstances 
having  been  always  such,  that  he  had  scarcely  any  share  in 
the  real  business  of  life.  His  friends  of  the  club  were  in 
hopes  that  Mr.  Thrale  might  have  made  a  liberal  provision 
for  him  for  his  life,  which,  as  Mr.  Thrale  left  no  son,  and  a 
very  large  fortune,  it  would  have  been  highly  to  his  honour 
to  have  done;  and,  considering  Dr.  Johnson's  age,  could  not 
have  been  of  long  duration;  but  he  bequeathed  him  only 
two  hundred  pounds,  which  was  the  legacy  given  to  each  of 
his  executors.  I  could  not  but  be  somewhat  diverted  by 
hearing  Johnson  talk  in  a  pompous  manner  of  his  new  office, 
and  particularly  of  the  concerns  of  the  brewery,  which  it  was 
at  last  resolved  should  be  sold.  Lord  Lucan  tells  a  very 
good  story,  which,  if  not  precisely  exact,  is  certainly  charac- 
teristical:  that  when  the  sale  of  Thrale 's  brewery  was  going 
forward,  Johnson  appeared  bustling  about,  with  an  ink-horn 
and  pen  in  his  button-hole,  like  an  excise-man;  and  on  being 
asked  what  he  really  considered  to  be  the  value  of  the  prop- 
erty which  was  to  be  disposed  of,  answered,  'We  are  not 
here  to  sell  a  parcel  of  boilers  and  vats,  but  the  potentiality 
of  growing  rich,  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.' 

On  Friday,  April  6,  he  carried  me  to  dine  at  a  club,  which, 
at  his  desire,  had  been  lately  formed  at  the  Queen's  Arms,  in 
St.  Paul's  Church-yard.  He  told  Mr.  Hoole,  that  he  wished 
to  have  a  City  Club,  and  asked  him  to  collect  one;  but,  said 
he,  'Don't  let  them  be  patriots.'  The  company  were  to-day 
very  sensible,  well-behaved  men. 

On  Friday,  April  13,  being  Good-Friday,  I  went  to  St. 
Clement's  church  with  him  as  usual.  There  I  saw  again  his 
old  fellow-collegian,  Edwards,  to  whom  I  said,  'I  think,  Sir, 
Dr.  Johnson  and  you  meet  only  at  Church.' — 'Sir,  (said  he,) 
it  is  the  best  place  we  can  meet  in,  except  Heaven,  and  I 
hope  we  shall  meet  there  too.'  Dr.  Johnson  told  me,  that 
there  was  very  Uttle  communication  between  Edwards  and 
him,  after  their  unexpected  renewal  of  acquaintance.  'But, 
(said  he,  smiling),  he  met  me  once,  and  said,  "I  am  told  you 
have  written  a  very  pretty  book  called  The  Rambler."  I  was 
unwilling  that  he  should  leave  the  world  in  total  darkness, 
and  sent  him  a  set.' 

Mr.  Berrenger  visited  him  to-day,  and  was  very  pleasing. 


456  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i78i 

We  talked  of  an  evening  society  for  conversation  at  a  house 
in  town,  of  which  we  were  all  members,  but  of  which  John- 
son said,  'It  will  never  do,  Sir.  There  is  nothing  served 
about  there,  neither  tea,  nor  coffee,  nor  lemonade,  nor  any 
thing  whatever;  and  depend  upon  it.  Sir,  a  man  does  not 
love  to  go  to  a  place  from  whence  he  comes  out  exactly  as  he 
went  in.'  I  endeavoured,  for  argument's  sake,  to  maintain 
that  men  of  learning  and  talents  might  have  very  good  in- 
tellectual society,  without  the  aid  of  any  little  gratifications 
of  the  senses.  Berrenger  joined  with  Johnson,  and  said, 
that  without  these  any  meeting  would  be  dull  and  insipid. 
He  would  therefore  have  all  the  slight  refreshments;  nay,  it 
would  not  be  amiss  to  have  some  cold  meat,  and  a  bottle  of 
wine  upon  a  side-board.  'Sir,  (said  Johnson  to  me,  with  an 
air  of  triumph,)  Mr.  Berrenger  knows  the  world.  Every 
body  loves  to  have  good  things  furnished  to  them  without 
any  trouble.  I  told  Mrs.  Thrale  once,  that  as  she  did  not 
choose  to  have  card  tables,  she  should  have  a  profusion  of 
the  best  sweetmeats,  and  she  would  be  sure  to  have  company 
enough  come  to  her.' 

On  Sunday,  April  15,  being  Easter-day,  after  solemn 
worship  in  St.  Paul's  church,  I  found  him  alone;  Dr.  Scott 
of  the  Commons  came  in. 

We  talked  of  the  difference  between  the  mode  of  education 
at  Oxford,  and  that  in  those  Colleges  where  instruction  is 
chiefly  conveyed  by  lectures.  Johnson.  'Lectures  were 
once  useful;  but  now,  when  all  can  read,  and  books  are  so 
numerous,  lectures  are  unnecessary.  If  your  attention  fails, 
and  you  miss  a  part  of  a  lecture,  it  is  lost;  you  cannot  go 
back  as  you  do  upon  a  book.'  Dr.  Scott  agreed  with  him. 
'But  yet  (said  I),  Dr.  Scott,  you  yourself  gave  lectures  at 
Oxford.'  He  smiled.  'You  laughed  (then  said  I,)  at  those 
who  came  to  you.' 

Dr.  Scott  left  us,  and  soon  afterwards  we  went  to  dinner. 
Our  company  consisted  of  Mrs.  Williams,  Mrs.  Desmoulins, 
Mr.  Levett,  Mr.  Allen,  the  printer,  and  Mrs.  Hall,  sister  of 
the  Reverend  Mr.  John  Wesley,  and  resembling  him,  as  I 
thought,  both  in  figure  and  manner.  Johnson  produced 
now,  for  the  first  time,  some  handsome  silver  salvers,  which 


17811  AS   CAPTAIN   MACHEATH  457 

he  told  me  he  had  bought  fourteen  years  ago;  so  it  was  a 
great  day.  I  was  not  a  httle  amused  by  observing  Allen 
perpetually  struggling  to  talk  in  the  manner  of  Johnson,  like 
the  little  frog  in  the  fable  blowing  himself  up  to  resemble  the 
stately  ox. 

He  mentioned  a  thing  as  not  unfrequent,  of  which  I  had 
never  heard  before, — being  called,  that  is,  hearing  one's 
name  pronounced  by  the  voice  of  a  known  person  at  a  great 
distance,  far  beyond  the  possibility  of  being  reached  by  any 
sound  uttered  by  human  organs.  'An  acquaintance,  on 
whose  veracity  I  can  depend,  told  me,  that  walking  home 
one  evening  to  Kilmarnock,  he  heard  himself  called  from 
a  wood,  by  the  voice  of  a  brother  who  had  gone  to  America; 
and  the  next  packet  brought  accounts  of  that  brother's  death.' 
Macbean  asserted  that  this  inexplicable  calling  was  a  thing 
very  well  known.  Dr.  Johnson  said,  that  one  day  at  Ox- 
ford, as  he  was  turning  the  key  of  his  chamber,  he  heard  his 
mother  distinctly  call  Sam.  She  was  then  at  Lichfield;  but 
nothing  ensued.  This  phsenomenon  is,  I  think,  as  wonder- 
ful as  any  other  mysterious  fact,  which  many  people  are 
very  slow  to  believe,  or  rather,  indeed,  reject  with  an  obstinate 
contempt. 

Some  time  after  this,  upon  his  making  a  remark  which 
escaped  my  attention,  Mrs.  Williams  and  Mrs.  Hall  were 
both  together  striving  to  answer  him.  He  grew  angry,  and 
called  out  loudly,  'Nay,  when  you  both  speak  at  once,  it  is 
intolerable.'  But  checking  himself,  and  softening,  he  said, 
'This  one  may  say,  though  you  are  ladies.'  Then  he  bright- 
ened into  gay  humour,  and  addressed  them  in  the  words  of 
one  of  the  songs  in  The  Beggar's  Opera  : — 

'But  two  at  a  time  there's  no  mortal  can  bear.' 

^What,  Sir,  (said  I,)  are  you  going  to  turn  Captain  Mac- 
heath?'  There  was  something  as  pleasantly  ludicrous  in 
this  scene  as  can  be  imagined.  The  contrast  between  Mac- 
heath,  Polly,  and  Lucy — and  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  blind, 
peevish  Mrs.  Williams,  and  lean,  lank,  preaching  Mrs.  Hall, 
was  exquisite. 


458  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  J  [i78i 

On  Friday, 'April  20,  I  spent  with  him  one  of  the  happiest 
days  that  I  remember  to  have  enjoyed  in  the  whole  course 
of  my  life.  Mrs.  Garrick,  whose  grief  for  the  loss  of  her 
husband  was,  I  believe,  as  sincere  as  wounded  affection  and 
admiration  could  produce,  had  this  day,  for  the  first  time 
since  his  death,  a  select  party  of  his  friends  to  dine  with  her. 
The  company  was  Miss  Hannah  More,  who  lived  with  her, 
and  whom  she  called  her  Chaplain;  Mrs.  Boscawen,  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  Carter,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Dr.  Burney,  Dr. 
Johnson,  and  myself.  We  found  ourselves  very  elegantly 
entertained  at  her  house  in  the  Adelphi,  where  I  have  passed 
many  a  pleasing  hour  with  him  'who  gladdened  life.'  She 
looked  well,  talked  of  her  husband  with  complacency,  and 
while  she  cast  her  eyes  on  his  portrait,  which  hung  over  the 
chimney-piece,  said,  that  'death  was  now  the  most  agreeable 
object  to  her.'  The  very  semblance  of  David  Garrick  was 
cheering. 

We  were  all  in  fine  spirits;  and  I  whispered  to  Mrs.  Bos- 
cawen, 'I  believe  this  is  as  much  as  can  be  made  of  life.'  In 
addition  to  a  splendid  entertainment,  we  were  regaled  with 
Lichfield  ale,  which  had  a  peculiar  appropriated  value.  Sir 
Joshua,  and  Dr.  Burney,  and  I,  drank  cordially  of  it  to  Dr. 
Johnson's  health;  and  though  he  would  not  join  us,  he  as 
cordially  answered,  'Gentlemen,  I  wish  you  all  as  well  as  you 
do  me.' 

The  general  effect  of  this  day  dwells  upon  my  mind  in 
fond  remembrance;  but  I  do  not  find  much  conversation 
recorded.     What  I  have  preserved  shall  be  faithfully  given. 

One  of  the  company  mentioned  Mr.  Thomas  Hollis,  the 
strenuous  Whig,  who  used  to  send  over  Europe  presents  of 
democratical  books,  with  their  boards  stamped  with  daggers 
and  caps  of  liberty.  Mrs.  Carter  said,  'He  was  a  bad  man. 
He  used  to  talk  uncharitably.'  Johnson.  'Poh!  pohf 
Madam;  who  is  the  worse  for  being  talked  of  uncharitably? 
Besides,  he  was  a  dull  poor  creature  as  ever  lived:  and  I 
believe  he  would  not  have  done  harm  to  a  man  whom  he 
knew  to  be  of  very  opposite  principles  to  his  own.  I  remem- 
ber once  at  the  Society  of  Arts,  when  an  advertisement  was 
to  be  drawn  up,  he  pointed  me  out  as  the  man  who  could  do 


1781]  TITTERING  REBUKED  459 

it  best.  This,  you  will  observe,  was  kindness  to  me.  I  how- 
ever slipt  away,  and  escai>ed  it.' 

Mrs.  Carter  having  said  of  the  same  person,  'I  doubt  he 
was  an  Atheist.'  Johnson.  '  I  don't  know  that.  He  might 
perhaps  have  become  one,  if  he  had  had  time  to  ripen,  (smil- 
ing.)    He  might  have  exuberated  into  an  Atheist.' 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  praised  Mudge's  Sermons.  Johnson. 
'Mudge's  Sermons  are  good,  but  not  practical.  He  grasps 
more  sense  than  he  can  hold;  he  takes  more  corn  than  he 
can  make  into  meal;  he  op>ens  a  wide  prospect,  but  it  is  so 
distant,  it  is  indistinct.  I  love  Blair's  Sermons.  Though 
the  dog  is  a  Scotchman,  and  a  Presbyterian,  and  every  thing 
he  should  not  be,  I  was  the  first  to  praise  them.  Such  was 
my  candour,'  (smiling.)  Mrs.  Boscawen.  'Such  his  great 
merit  to  get  the  better  of  all  your  prejudices.'  Johnson, 
'Why,  Madam,  let  us  compound  the  matter;  let  us  ascribe 
it  to  my  candour,  and  his  merit.' 

In  the  evening  we  had  a  large  company  in  the  drawing- 
room,  several  ladies,  the  Bishop  of  Killaloe,  Dr.  Percy,  Mr. 
Chamberlayne,  of  the  Treasury,  &c.  &c. 

Talking  of  a  very  respectable  authour,  he  told  us  a  curious 
circumstance  in  his  life,  which  was,  that  he  had  married  a 
printer's  devil.  Reynolds.  'A  printer's  devil,  Sir!  Why, 
I  thought  a  printer's  devil  was  a  creature  with  a  black  face 
and  in  rags.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir.  But  I  suppose,  he  had 
her  face  washed,  and  put  clean  clothes  on  her.  (Then  look- 
ing very  serious,  and  very  earnest.)  And  she  did  not  dis- 
grace him;  the  woman  had  a  bottom  of  good  sense.'  The 
word  bottom  thus  introduced,  was  so  ludicrous  when  con- 
trasted with  his  gravity,  that  most  of  us  could  not  forbear 
tittering  and  laughing;  though  I  recollect  that  the  Bishop 
of  Killaloe  kept  his  countenance  with  perfect  steadiness, 
while  Miss  Hannah  More  slyly  hid  her  face  behind  a  lady's 
back  who  sat  on  the  same  settee  with  her.  His  pride  could 
not  bear  that  any  expression  of  his  should  excite  ridicule, 
when  he  did  not  intend  it;  he  therefore  resolved  to  assume 
and  exercise  despotick  power,  glanced  sternly  around,  and 
called  out  in  a  strong  tone,  '  Where's  the  merriment  ? '  Then 
collecting  himself,  and  looking  aweful,  to  make  us  feel  how 


460  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  ri78i 

he  could  impose  restraint,  and  as  it  were  searching  his  mind 
for  a  still  more  ludicrous  word,  he  slowly  pronounced,  '  I  say 
the  woman  was  fundamentally  sensible;'  as  if  he  had  said, 
hear  this  now,  and  laugh  if  you  dare.  We  all  sat  composed 
as  at  a  funeral. 

He  and  I  walked  away  together;  we  stopped  a  little  while 
by  the  rails  of  the  Adelphi,  looking  on  the  Thames,  and  I 
said  to  him  with  some  emotion  that  I  was  now  thinking  of 
two  friends  we  had  lost,  who  once  lived  in  the  buildings  be- 
hind us,  Beauclerk  and  Garrick.  'Ay,  Sir,  (said  he,  tenderly,) 
and  two  such  friends  as  cannot  be  suppUed.' 

For  some  time  after  this  day  I  did  not  see  him  very  often, 
and  of  the  conversation  which  I  did  enjoy,  I  am  sorry  to  find 
I  have  preserved  but  little.  I  was  at  this  time  engaged  in 
a  variety  of  other  matters,  which  required  exertion  and  as- 
siduity, and  necessarily  occupied  almost  all  my  time. 

On  Tuesday,  May  8,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  again  dining 
with  him  and  Mr.  Wilkes,  at  Mr.  Dilly's.  No  negociation 
was  now  required  to  bring  them  together;  for  Johnson  was 
so  well  satisfied  with  the  former  interview,  that  he  was  very 
glad  to  meet  Wilkes  again,  who  was  this  day  seated  between 
Dr.  Beattie  and  Dr.  Johnson;  (between  TnUh  and  Reason, 
as  General  Paoli  said,  when  I  told  him  of  it.)  Wilkes. 
'I  have  been  thinking,  Dr.  Johnson,  that  there  should  be  a 
bill  brought  into  parliament  that  the  controverted  elections 
for  Scotland  should  be  tried  in  that  country,  at  their  own 
Abbey  of  Holy- Rood  House,  and  not  here;  for  the  conse- 
quence of  trjdng  them  here  is,  that  we  have  an  inundation 
of  Scotchmen,  who  come  up  and  never  go  back  again.  Now 
here  is  Boswell,  who  is  come  up  upon  the  election  for  his  own 
county,  which  will  not  last  a  fortnight.'  Johnson.  'Nay, 
Sir,  I  see  no  reason  why  they  should  be  tried  at  all ;  for,  you 
know,  one  Scotchman  is  as  good  as  another.'  Wilkes. 
'Pray,  Boswell,  how  much  may  be  got  in  a  year  by  an  Advo- 
cate at  the  Scotch  bar  ? '  Boswell.  '  I  believe  two  thousand 
pounds.'  Wilkes.  'How  can  it  be  possible  to  spend  that 
money  in  Scotland?'  Johnson.  ' Why,  Sir,  the  money  may 
be  spent  in  England:  but  there  is  a  harder  question.  If  one 
man  in  Scotland  gets  possession  of  two  thousand  pounds, 


1781]        THE  PAROLE  OF  LITERARY  MEN  461 

what  remains  for  all  the  rest  of  the  nation  ? '  Wilkes.  '  You 
know,  in  the  last  war,  the  immense  booty  which  Thurot 
carried  off  by  the  complete  plunder  of  seven  Scotch  isles; 
he  re-embarked  with  three  and  six-pence.'  Here  again  John- 
son and  Wilkes  joined  in  extravagant  sportive  raillery  upon 
the  supposed  poverty  of  Scotland,  which  Dr.  Beattie  and 
I  did  not  think  it  worth  our  while  to  dispute. 

The  subject  of  quotation  being  introduced,  Mr.  Wilkes 
censured  it  as  pedantry.  Johnson.  'No,  Sir,  it  is  a  good 
thing;  there  is  a  community  of  mind  in  it.  Classical  quota- 
tion is  the  parole  of  literary  men  all  over  the  world.' 

He  gave  us  an  entertaining  account  of  Bet  Flint,  a  woman 
of  the  town,  who,  with  some  eccentrick  talents  and  much 
effrontery,  forced  herself  upon  his  acquaintance.  'Bet  (said 
he,)  wrote  her  own  Life  in  verse,  which  she  brought  to  me, 
wishing  that  I  would  furnish  her  with  a  Preface  to  it,  (laugh- 
ing.) I  used  to  say  of  her  that  she  was  generally  slut  and 
drunkard;  occasionally,  whore  and  thief.  She  had,  however, 
gMiteel  lodgings,  a  spinnet  on  which  she  played,  and  a  boy 
that  walked  before  her  chair.  Poor  Bet  was  taken  up  on 
a  charge  of  stealing  a  counterpane,  and  tried  at  the  Old 

Bailey.     Chief  Justice ,  who  loved  a  wench,  summed 

up  favourably,  and  she  was  acquitted.  After  which  Bet  said, 
with  a  gay  and  satisfied  air,  "Now  that  the  counterpane  is 
my  own,  I  shall  make  a  petticoat  of  it."' 

Talking  of  oratory,  Mr.  Wilkes  described  it  as  accom- 
panied with  all  the  charms  of  poetical  expression.  Johnson. 
'No,  Sir;  oratory  is  the  power  of  beating  down  your  adver- 
sary's arguments,  and  putting  better  in  their  place.'  Wilkes. 
'But  this  does  not  move  the  passions.'  Johnson.  'He 
must  be  a  weak  man,  who  is  to  be  so  moved.'  Wilkes. 
(naming  a  celebrated  orator,)  'Amidst  all  the  brilliancy  of 

's  imagination,  and  the  exuberance  of  his  wit,  there  is 

a  strange  want  of  taste.  It  was  observed  of  Apelles's  Venus, 
that  her  flesh  seemed  as  if  she  had  been  nourished  by  roses: 
his  oratory  would  sometimes  make  one  suspect  that  he  eats 
potatoes  and  drinks  whisky.' 

Mr.  Wilkes  said  to  me,  loud  enough  for  Dr.  Johnson  to 
hear,  '  Dr.  Johnson  should  make  me  a  present  of  his  Lives  of 


462  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i78i 

the  Poets,  as  I  am  a  poor  patriot,  who  cannot  afford  to  buy 
them.'  Johnson  seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  this  hint;  but 
in  a  little  while,  he  called  to  Mr.  Dilly,  '  Pray,  Sir,  be  so  good 
as  to  send  a  set  of  my  Lives  to  Mr.  Wilkes,  with  my  compli- 
ments.' This  was  accordingly  done;  and  Mr.  Wilkes  paid 
Dr.  Johnson  a  visit,  was  courteously  received,  and  sat  with 
him  a  long  time. 

The  company  gradually  dropped  away.  Mr.  Dilly  him- 
self was  called  down  stairs  upon  business;  I  left  the  room 
for  some  time;  when  I  returned,  I  was  struck  with  observing 
Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  and  John  Wilkes,  Esq.,  literally  tete-d.- 
tS'e ;  for  they  were  reclined  upon  their  chairs,  with  their 
heads  leaning  almost  close  to  each  other,  and  talking  ear- 
nestly, in  a  kind  of  confidential  whisper,  of  the  personal 
quarrel  between  George  the  Second  and  the  King  of  Prussia. 
Such  a  scene  of  perfectly  easy  sociality  between  two  such 
opponents  in  the  war  of  political  controversy,  as  that  which 
I  now  beheld,  would  have  been  an  excellent  subject  for  a 
picture.  It  presented  to  my  mind  the  happy  days  which 
are  foretold  in  Scripture,  when  the  lion  shall  lie  down  with 
the  kid. 

After  this  day  there  was  another  pretty  long  interval, 
during  which  Dr.  Johnson  and  I  did  not  meet.  When  I 
mentioned  it  to  him  with  regret,  he  was  pleased  to  say, 
'Then,  Sir,  let  us  live  double.' 

About  this  time  it  was  much  the  fashion  for  several  ladies 
to  have  evening  assemblies,  where  the  fair  sex  might  par- 
ticipate in  conversation  with  literary  and  ingenious  men, 
animated  by  a  desire  to  please.  These  societies  were  de- 
nominated Blue-stocking  Clubs,  the  origin  of  which  title 
being  little  known,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  relate  it.  One 
of  the  most  eminent  members  of  those  societies,  when  they 
first  commenced,  was  Mr.  Stillingfleet,  whose  dress  was 
remarkably  grave,  and  in  particular  it  was  observed,  that 
he  wore  blue  stockings.  Such  was  the  excellence  of  his 
conversation,  that  his  absence  was  felt  as  so  great  a  loss, 
that  it  used  to  be  said,  'We  can  do  nothing  without  the  blue 
stockings;'  and  thus  by  degrees  the  title  was  established. 
Miss  Hannah  More  has  admirably  described  a  Blue-stocking 


1781]  AT  MISS  MONCKTON'S  463 

Club,  in  her  Bas  Bleu,  a  poem  in  which  many  of  the  persons 
who  were  most  conspicuous  there  are  mentioned. 

Johnson  was  prevailed  with  to  come  sometimes  into  these 
circles,  and  did  not  think  himself  too  grave  even  for  the 
lively  Miss  Monckton  (now  Countess  of  Corke),  who  used 
to  have  the  finest  bit  of  blue  at  the  house  of  her  mother,  Lady 
Galway.  Her  vivacity  enchanted  the  Sage,  and  they  used 
to  talk  together  with  all  imaginable  ease.  A  singular  in- 
stance happened  one  evening,  when  she  insisted  that  some 
of  Sterne's  writings  were  very  pathetick.  Johnson  bluntly 
denied  it.  'I  am  sure  (said  she,)  they  have  affected  me.' 
'Why,  (said  Johnson,  smiling,  and  rolling  himself  about,) 
that  is,  because,  dearest,  you're  a  dunce.'  When  she  some 
time  afterwards  mentioned  this  to  him,  he  said  with  equal 
truth  and  politeness;  'Madam,  if  I  had  thought  so,  I  cer- 
tainly should  not  have  said  it.' 

Another  evening  Johnson's  kind  indulgence  towards  me 
had  a  pretty  difficult  trial.  I  had  dined  at  the  Duke  of 
Montrose's  with  a  very  agreeable  party,  and  his  Grace,  ac- 
cording to  his  usual  custom,  had  circulated  the  bottle  very 
freely.  Lord  Graham  and  I  went  together  to  Miss  Monck- 
ton's,  where  I  certainly  was  in  extraordinary  spirits,  and 
above  all  fear  or  awe.  In  the  midst  of  a  great  number  of 
persons  of  the  first  rank,  amongst  whom  I  recollect  with  con- 
fusion, a  noble  lady  of  the  most  stately  decorum,  I  placed 
myself  next  to  Johnson,  and  thinking  myself  now  fully  his 
match,  talked  to  him  in  a  loud  and  boisterous  manner, 
desirous  to  let  the  company  know  how  I  could  contend  with 
Ajax.  I  particularly  remember  pressing  him  upon  the  value 
of  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  and  as  an  illustration  of 
my  argument,  asking  him,  'What,  Sir,  supposing  I  were  to 

fancy  that  the  (naming  the  most  charming  Duchess 

in  his  Majesty's  dominions)  were  in  love  with  me,  should  I 
not  be  very  happy?'  My  friend  with  much  address  evaded 
my  interrogatories,  and  kept  me  as  quiet  as  possible;  but 
it  may  easily  be  conceived  how  he  must  have  felt.  However, 
when  a  few  days  afterwards  I  waited  upon  him  and  made 
an  apology,  he  behaved  with  the  most  friendly  gentleness. 

While  I  remained  in  London  this  year,  Johnson  and  I 


464  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i78i 

dined  together  at  several  places.  I  recollect  a  placid  day  at 
Dr.  Butter's,  who  had  now  removed  from  Derby  to  Lower 
Grosvenor-street,  London;  but  of  his  conversation  on  that 
and  other  occasions  during  this  period,  I  neglected  to  keep 
any  regular  record,  and  shall  therefore  insert  here  some  mis- 
cellaneous articles  which  I  find  in  my  Johnsonian  notes. 

His  disorderly  habits,  when  'making  provision  for  the  day 
that  was  passing  over  him,'  appear  from  the  following  anec- 
dote, communicated  to  me  by  Mr.  John  Nichols: — 'In  the 
year  1763,  a  young  bookseller,  who.  was  an  apprentice  to 
Mr.  Whiston,  waited  on  him  with  a  subscription  to  his 
Shakspeare :  and  observing  that  the  Doctor  made  no  entry 
in  any  book  of  the  subscriber's  name,  ventured  diffidently 
to  ask,  whether  he  would  please  to  have  the  gentleman's  ad- 
dress, that  it  might  be  properly  inserted  in  the  printed  list 
of  subscribers.  "/  shall  print  no  list  of  subscribers;"  said 
Johnson,  with  great  abruptness:  but  almost  immediately 
recollecting  himself,  added,  very  complacently,  "Sir,  I  have 
two  very  cogent  reasons  for  not  printing  any  list  of  sub- 
scribers;— one,  that  I  have  lost  all  the  names, — the  other, 
that  I  have  spent  all  the  money." 

Johason  could  not  brook  appearing  to  be  worsted  in  argu- 
ment, even  when  he  had  taken  the  wrong  side,  to  shew  the 
force  and  dexterity  of  his  talents.  When,  therefore,  he  per- 
ceived that  his  opponent  gained  ground,  he  had  recourse  to 
some  sudden  mode  of  robust  sophistry.  Once  when  I  was 
pressing  upon  him  with  visible  advantage,  he  stopped  me 
thus: — 'My  dear  Boswell,  let's  have  no  more  of  this;  you'll 
make  nothing  of  it.  I'd  rather  have  you  whistle  a  Scotch 
tune.' 

Care,  however,  must  be  taken  to  distinguish  between 
Johnson  when  he  'talked  for  victory,'  and  Johnson  when  he 
had  no  desire  but  to  inform  and  illustrate.  'One  of  John- 
son's principal  talents  (says  an  eminent  friend  of  his)  was 
shewn  in  maintaining  the  wrong  side  of  an  argument,  and  in 
a  splendid  perversion  of  the  truth.  If  you  could  contrive  to 
have  his  fair  opinion  on  a  subject,  and  without  any  bias  from 
personal  prejudice,  or  from  a  wish  to  be  victorious  in  argu- 
ment, it  was  wisdom  itself,  not  only  convincing,  but  over- 
powering.' 


1781]  TALK  AS  A  TRIAL  OF  SKILL  465 

He  had,  however,  all  his  life  habituated  himself  to  cpn-i, 
sider  conversation  as  a  trial  of  intellectual  vigour  and  skill;: 
and  to  this,  I  think,  we  may  venture  to  ascribe  that  unex- 
ampled richness  and  brilliancy  which  appeared  in  his  own. 
As  a  proof  at  once  of  his  eagerness  for  colloquial  distinction, 
and  his  high  notion  of  this  eminent  friend,  he  once  addressed 
him  thus:—  ' ,  we  now  have  been  several  hours  to- 
gether; and  you  have  said  but  one  thing  for  which  I  envied 
you.' 

Goldsmith  could  sometimes  take  adventurous  liberties 
with  him,  and  escape  unpunished.  Beauclerk  told  me  that 
when  Goldsmith  talked  of  a  project  for  having  a  third 
Theatre  in  London,  solely  for  the  exhibition  of  new  plays,  in 
order  to  deliver  authours  from  the  supposed  tyranny  of 
managers,  Johnson  treated  it  slightingly;  upon  which  Gold- 
smith said,  'Ay,  ay,  this  may  be  nothing  to  you,  who  can 
now  shelter  yourself  behind  the  corner  of  a  pension;'  and 
that  Johnson  bore  this  with  good-humour. 

Johnson  had  called  twice  on  the  Bishop  of  Killaloe  before 
his  Lordship  set  out  for  Ireland,  having  missed  him  the  first 
time.  He  said,  'It  would  have  hung  heavy  on  my  heart  if 
I  had  not  seen  him.  No  man  ever  paid  more  attention  to 
another  than  he  has  done  to  me;  and  I  have  neglected  him,, 
not  wilfully,  but  from  being  otherwise  occupied.  Always, 
Sir,  set  a  high  value  on  spontaneous  kindness.  He  whose 
inclination  prompts  him  to  cultivate  your  friendship  of  his 
own  accord,  will  love  you  more  than  one  whom  you  have 
been  at  pains  to  attach  to  you.' 

I  asked  him  if  he  was  not  dissatisfied  with  having  so  small 
a  share  of  wealth,  and  none  of  those  distinctions  in  the  state 
which  are  the  objects  of  ambition.  He  had  only  a  pension 
of  three  hundred  a  year.  Why  was  he  not  in  such  circum- 
stances as  to  keep  his  coach?  Why  had  he  not  some  con- 
siderable office?  Johnson.  'Sir,  I  have  never  complained 
of  the  world;  nor  do  I  think  that  I  have  reason  to  complain. 
It  is  rather  to  be  wondered  at  that  I  have  so  much.  My 
pension  is  more  out  of  the  usual  course  of  things  than  any 
instance  that  I  have  known.  Here,  Sir,  was  a  man  avowedly 
no  friend  to  Government  at  the  time,  who  got  a  pension  with- 
out asking  for  it.     I  never  courted  the  great;   they  sent  for 


466  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i78i 

me;  but  I  think  they  now  give  me  up.  They  are  satisfied; 
they  have  seen  enough  of  me.' 

Strange,  however,  it  is,  to  consider  how  few  of  the  great 
isought  his  society;  so  that  if  one  were  disposed  to  take  oc- 
casion for  satire  on  that  account,  very  conspicuous  objects 
present  themselves.  His  noble  friend.  Lord  Elibank,  well 
observed,  that  if  a  great  man  procured  an  interview  with 
Johnson,  and  did  not  wish  to  see  him  more,  it  shewed  a  mere 
idle  curiosity,  and  a  wretched  want  of  relish  for  extraor- 
dinary powers  of  mind.  Mrs.  Thrale  justly  and  wittily  ac- 
counted for  such  conduct  by  saying,  that  Johnson's  conver- 
sation was  by  much  too  strong  for  a  person  accustomed  to 
obsequiousness  and  flattery;  it  was  mustard  in  a  young  child's 
mouth! 

On  Saturday,  June  2,  I  set  out  for  Scotland,  and  had 
promised  to  pay  a  visit  in  my  way,  as  I  sometimes  did,  at 
iSouthill,  in  Bedfordshire,  at  the  hospitable  mansion  of 
'Squire  Dilly,  the  elder  brother  of  my  worthy  friends,  the 
booksellers,  in  the  Poultry.  Dr.  Johnson  agreed  to  be  of 
the  party  this  year,  with  Mr.  Charles  Dilly  and  me,  and  to 
go  and  see  Lord  Bute's  seat  at  Luton  Hoe.  He  talked  little 
to  us  in  the  carriage,  being  chiefly  occupied  in  reading  Dr. 
Watson's  second  volume  of  Chemical  Essays,  which  he  liked 
very  well,  and  his  own  Prince  of  Abyssinia,  on  which  he 
.seemed  to  be  intensely  fixed;  having  told  us,  that  he  had 
not  looked  at  it  since  it  was  first  published.  I  happened  to 
take  it  out  of  my  pocket  this  day,  and  he  seized  upon  it  with 
avidity. 

We  stopped  at  Welwyn,  where  I  wished  much  to  see,  in 
company  with  Dr.  Johnson,  the  residence  of  the  authour 
of  Night  Thoughts,  which  was  then  possessed  by  his  son, 
Mr.  Young.  Here  some  address  was  requisite,  for  I  was 
not  acquainted  with  Mr.  Young,  and  had  I  proposed  to  Dr. 
Johnson  that  we  should  send  to  him,  he  would  have  checked 
my  wish,  and  perhaps  been  offended.  I  therefore  concerted 
with  Mr.  Dilly,  that  I  should  steal  away  from  Dr.  Johnson 
and  him,  and  try  what  reception  I  could  procure  from  Mr. 
Young;  if  unfavourable,  nothing  was  to  be  said;  but  if  agree- 
able, I  should  return  and  notify  it  to  them.     I  hastened  to 


1781]  DR.   YOUNG'S  GARDEN  467 

Mr.  Young's,  found  he  was  at  home,  sent  in  word  that  a 
gentleman  desired  to  wait  upon  him,  and  was  shewn  into  a 
parlour,  where  he  and  a  young  lady,  his  daughter,  were  sit- 
ting. He  appeared  to  be  a  plain,  civil,  country  gentleman; 
and  when  I  begged  pardon  for  presuming  to  trouble  him, 
but  that  I  wished  much  to  see  his  place,  if  he  would  give  me 
leave;  he  behaved  very  courteously,  and  answered,  'By  all 
means.  Sir;  we  are  just  going  to  drink  tea;  will  you  sit 
down?'  I  thanked  him,  but  said,  that  Dr.  Johnson  had 
come  with  me  from  London,  and  I  must  return  to  the  inn 
and  drink  tea  with  him;  that  my  name  was  Boswell,  I  had 
travelled  with  him  in  the  Hebrides.  'Sir,  (said  he,)  I  should 
think  it  a  great  honour  to  see  Dr.  Johnson  here.  Will  you 
allow  me  to  send  for  him  ? '  Availing  myself  of  this  opening, 
I  said  that  'I  would  go  myself  and  bring  him,  when  he  had 
drunk  tea;  he  knew  nothing  of  my  calling  here.'  Having 
been  thus  successful,  I  hastened  back  to  the  inn,  and  in- 
formed Dr.  Johnson  that  'Mr.  Young,  son  of  Dr.  Young, 
the  authour  of  Night  Thoughts,  whom  I  had  just  left,  desired 
to  have  the  honour  of  seeing  him  at  the  house  where  his 
father  lived.'  Dr.  Johnson  luckily  made  no  inquiry  how 
this  invitation  had  arisen,  but  agreed  to  go,  and  when  we 
entered  Mr.  Young's  parlour,  he  addressed  him  with  a  very 
polite  bow,  '  Sir,  I  had  a  curiosity  to  come  and  see  this  place. 
I  had  the  honour  to  know  that  great  man,  your  father.' 
We  went  into  the  garden,  where  we  found  a  gravel  walk,  on 
each  side  of  which  was  a  row  of  trees,  planted  by  Dr.  Young, 
which  formed  a  handsome  Gothick  arch;  Dr.  Johnson  called 
it  a  fine  grove.     I  beheld  it  with  reverence. 

We  sat  some  time  in  the  summer-house,  on  the  outside 
wall  of  which  was  inscribed,  'Ambulantes  in  horto  audiebant 
vocem  Dei  ; '  said  in  reference  to  a  brook  by  which  it  is  situ- 
ated, 'Vivendi  recte  qui  prorogat  horam,'  &c.  I  said  to  Mr. 
Young,  that  I  had  been  told  his  father  was  cheerful.  'Sir, 
(said  he,)  he  was  too  well-bred  a  man  not  to  be  cheerful  in 
company;  but  he  was  gloomy  when  alone.  He  never  was 
cheerful  after  my  mother's  death,  and  he  had  met  with 
many  disappointments.'  Dr.  Johnson  observed  to  me  after- 
wards, 'That  this  was  no  favourable  account  of  Dr.  Young; 


468  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i78i 

for  it  is  not  becoming  in  a  man  to  have  so  little  acquiescence 
in  the  ways  of  Providence,  as  to  be  gloomy  because  he  has 
not  obtained  as  much  preferment  as  he  expected;  nor  to 
continue  gloomy  for  the  loss  of  his  wife.  Grief  has  its  time.' 
The  last  part  of  this  censure  was  theoretically  made.  Prac- 
tically, we  know  that  grief  for  the  loss  of  a  wife  may  be  con- 
tinued very  long,  in  proportion  as  affection  has  been  sincere. 
No  man  knew  this  better  than  Dr.  Johnson. 

Upon  the  road  we  talked  of  the  uncertainty  of  profit  with 
which  authours  and  booksellers  engage  in  the  publication  of 
literary  works.  Johnson.  'My  judgement  I  have  found  is 
no  certain  rule  as  to  the  sale  of  a  book.'  Boswell.  'Pray, 
Sir,  have  you  been  much  plagued  with  authours  sending  you 
their  works  to  revise?'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir;  I  have  been 
thought  a  sour,  surly  fellow.'  Boswell.  'Very  lucky  for 
you.  Sir, — in  that  respect.'  I  must  however  observe,  that 
notwithstanding  what  he  now  said,  which  he  no  doubt  im- 
agined at  the  time  to  be  the  fact,  there  was,  perhaps,  no  man 
who  more  frequently  yielded  to  the  solicitations  even  of  very 
obscure  authours,  to  read  their  manuscripts,  or  more  liber- 
ally assisted  them  with  advice  and  correction. 

He  found  himself  very  happy  at  'Squire  Dilly's,  where 
there  is  always  abundance  of  excellent  fare,  and  hearty 
welcome. 

On  Sunday,  June  3,  we  all  went  to  Southill  church,  which 
is  very  near  to  Mr.  Dilly's  house.  It  being  the  first  Sunaay 
of  the  month,  the  holy  sacrament  was  administered,  and 
I  staid  to  partake  of  it.  When  I  came  afterwards  into  Dr. 
Johnson's  room,  he  said,  'You  did  right  to  stay  and  receive 
the  communion;  I  had  not  thought  of  it.'  This  seemed  to 
imply  that  he  did  not  choose  to  approach  the  altar  without 
a  previous  preparation,  as  to  which  good  men  entertain 
different  opinions,  some  holding  that  it  is  irreverent  to  par- 
take of  that  ordinance  without  considerable  premeditation. 

Although  upon  most  occasions  I  never  heard  a  more 
strenuous  advocate  for  the  advantages  of  wealth,  than  Dr. 
Johnson:  he  this  day,  I  know  not  from  what  caprice,  took 
the  other  side.  *I  have  not  observed  (said  he,)  that  men 
of  very  large  fortunes  enjoy  any  thing  extraordinary  that 


1781]  ,  VISIT  TO   LUTON-HOE  469 

makes  happiness.  What  has  the  Duke  of  Bedford?  What 
has  the  Duke  of  Devonshire?  The  only  great  instance  that 
I  have  ever  known  of  the  enjoyment  of  wealth  was,  that  of 
Jamaica  Dawkins,  who,  going  to  visit  Palmyra,  and  hearing 
that  the  way  was  infested  by  robbers,  hired  a  troop  of  Turk- 
ish horse  to  guard  him.' 

Dr.  Gibbons,  the  Dissenting  minister,  being  mentioned, 
he  said,  'I  took  to  Dr.  Gibbons.'  And  addressing  himself 
to  Mr.  Charles  Dilly,  added,  'I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him. 
Tell  him,  if  he'll  call  on  me,  and  dawdle  over  a  dish  of  tea 
in  an  afternoon,  I  shall  take  it  kind.' 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Smith,  Vicar  of  Southill,  a  vfery  re- 
spectable man,  with  a  very  agreeable  family,  sent  an  invita- 
tion to  us  to  drink  tea.  I  remarked  Dr.  Johnson's  very 
respectful  politeness.  Though  always  fond  of  changing  the 
scene,  he  said,  'We  must  have  Mr.  Dilly's  leave.  We  can- 
not go  from  your  house.  Sir,  without  your  permission.'  We 
all  went,  and  were  well  satisfied  with  our  visit. 

When  I  observed  that  a  housebreaker  was  in  general  very 
timorous;  Johnson.  'No  wonder.  Sir;  he  is  afraid  of  being 
shot  getting  into  a  house,  or  hanged  when  he  has  got  out  of  it.' 

He  told  us,  that  he  had  in  one  day  written  six  sheets  of 
a  translation  from  the  French,  adding,  'I  should  be  glad  to 
see  it  now.  I  wish  that  I  had  copies  of  all  the  pamphlets 
written  against  me,  as  it  is  said  Pope  had.  Had  I  known 
that  I  should  make  so  much  noise  in  the  world,  I  should  have 
been  at  pains  to  collect  them.  I  believe  there  is  hardly  a 
day  in  which  there  is  not  something  about  me  in  the  news- 
pap)ers.' 

On  Monday,  June  4,  we  all  went  to  Luton-Hoe,  to  see 
Lord  Bute's  magnificent  seat,  for  which  I  had  obtained  a 
ticket.  As  we  entered  the  park,  I  talked  in  a  high  style  of 
my  old  friendship  with  Lord  Mountstuart,  and  said,  '  I  shall 
probably  be  much  at  this  place.'  The  Sage,  aware  of  human 
vicissitudes,  gently  checked  me:  'Don't  you  be  too  sure  of 
that.'  He  made  two  or  three  peculiar  observations;  as 
when  shewn  the  botanical  garden,  'Is  not  every  garden  a 
botanical  garden?'  When  told  that  there  was  a  shrub- 
bery to  the  extent  of  several  miles:   'That  is  making  a  very 


470  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i78i 

foolish  use  of  the  ground;  a  Httle  of  it  is  very  well.'  When 
it  was  proposed  that  we  should  walk  on  the  pleasure-ground; 
'Don't  let  us  fatigue  ourselves.  Why  should  we  walk  there? 
Here's  a  fine  tree,  let's  get  to  the  top  of  it.'  But  upon  the 
whole,  he  was  very  much  pleased.  He  said,  'This  is  one  of 
the  places  I  do  not  regret  having  come  to  see.  It  is  a  very 
stately  place,  indeed;  in  the  house  magnificence  is  not  sacri- 
ficed to  convenience,  nor  convenience  to  magnificence.  The 
library  is  very  splendid:  the  dignity  of  the  rooms  is  very 
great;  and  the  quantity  of  pictures  is  beyond  expectation, 
beyond  hope.' 

It  happened  without  any  previous  concert,  that  we  visited 
the  seat  of  Lord  Bute  upon  the  King's  birthday;  we  dined  and 
drank  his  Majesty's  health  at  an  inn,  in  the  village  of  Luton. 

In  the  evening  I  put  him  in  mind  of  his  promise  to  favour 
me  with  a  copy  of  his  celebrated  Letter  to  the  Earl  of  Ches- 
terfield, and  he  was  at  last  pleased  to  comply  with  this  earnest 
request,  by  dictating  it  to  me  from  his  memory;  for  he  be- 
lieved that  he  himself  had  no  copy.  There  was  an  animated 
glow  in  his  countenance  while  he  thus  recalled  his  high-minded 
indignation. 

On  Tuesday,  June  5,  Johnson  was  to  return  to  London. 
He  was  very  pleasant  at  breakfast;  I  mentioned  a  friend  of  • 
mine  having  resolved  never  to  marry  a  pretty  woman.  John- 
son. 'Sir,  it  is  a  very  foolish  resolution  to  resolve  not  to 
marry  a  pretty  woman.  Beauty  is  of  itself  very  estimable. 
No,  Sir,  I  would  prefer  a  pretty  woman,  unless  there  are 
objections  to  her.  A  pretty  woman  may  be  foolish;  a 
pretty  woman  may  be  wicked;  a  pretty  woman  may  not 
like  me.  But  there  is  no  such  danger  in  marrying  a  pretty 
woman  as  is  apprehended:  she  will  not  be  persecuted  if  she 
does  not  invite  persecution.  A  pretty  woman,  if  she  has  a 
mind  to  be  wicked,  can  find  a  readier  way  than  another; 
and  that  is  all.' 

At  Shefford  I  had  another  affectionate  parting  from  my 
revered  friend,  who  was  taken  up  by  the  Bedford  coach  and 
carried  to  the  metropolis.  I  went  with  Messieurs  Dilly,  to 
see  some  friends  at  Bedford;  dined  with  the  officers  of  the 
militia  of  the  county,  and  next  day  proceeded  on  my  journey. 


1781]  DR.   BURNEY'S  ANECDOTE  471 

Johnson's  charity  to  the  poor  was  uniform  and  extensive,, 
both  from  incUnation  and  principle.  He  not  only  bestowed 
liberally  out  of  his  own  purse,  but  what  is  more  difficult  as 
well  as  rare,  would  beg  from  others,  when  he  had  proper 
objects  in  view.  This  he  did  judiciously  as  well  as  humanely. 
Mr.  Philip  Metcalfe  tells  me,  that  when  he  has  asked  him 
for  some  money  for  persons  in  distress,  and  Mr.  Metcalfe 
has  offered  what  Johnson  thought  too  much,  he  insisted  on 
taking  less,  saying,  'No,  no.  Sir;  we  must  not  -pamper  them.' 

I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  Malone,  one  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's 
executors,  for  the  following  note,  which  was  found  among 
his  papers  after  his  death,  and  which,  we  may  presume,  his. 
unaffected  modesty  prevented  him  from  communicating  to* 
me  with  the  other  letters  from  Dr.  Johnson  with  which  he 
was  pleased  to  furnish  me.  However  slight  in  itself,  as  it 
does  honour  to  that  illustrious  painter,  and  most  amiable 
man,  I  am  happy  to  introduce  it. 

'To  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

'Dear  Sir, — It  was  not  before  yesterday  that  I  received 
your  splendid  benefaction.  To  a  hand  so  liberal  in  dis- 
tributing, I  hope  nobody  will  exvry  the  power  of  acquiring. 
I  am,  dear  Sir,  your  obliged  and  most  humble  servant, 

'June  23,  1781.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

The  following  curious  anecdote  I  insert  in  Dr.  Burney's: 
own  words: — 

'Dr.  Burney  related  to  Dr.  Johnson  the  partiality  which 
his  writings  had  excited  in  a  friend  of  Dr.  Burney's,  the 
late  Mr.  Bewley,  well  known  in  Norfolk  by  the  name  of  the 
Philosopher  of  Massinghani :  who,  from  the  Ramblers  and 
Plan  of  his  Dictionary,  and  long  before  the  authour's  fame  was 
established  by  the  Dictionary  itself,  or  any  other  work,  had 
conceived  such  a  reverence  for  him,  that  he  urgently  begged 
Dr.  Burney  to  give  him  the  cover  of  the  first  letter  he  had 
received  from  him,  as  a  relick  of  so  estimable  a  writer.  This 
was  in  1755.  In  1760,  when  Dr.  Burney  visited  Dr.  Johnson 
at  the  Temple  in  London,  where  he  had  then  chambers,  he 


472  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i78i 

hapj)ened  to  arrive  there  before  he  was  up;  and  being  shewn 
kito  the  room  where  he  was  to  breakfast,  finding  himself 
alone,  he  examined  the  contents  of  the  apartment,  to  try 
whether  he  could  undiscovered  steal  anything  to  send  to 
his  friend  Bewley,  as  another  relick  of  the  admirable  Dr. 
Johnson.  But  finding  nothing  better  to  his  purpose,  he 
cut  some  bristles  off  his  hearth-broom,  and  enclosed  them 
in  a  letter  to  his  country  enthusiast,  who  received  them 
with  due  reverence.  The  Doctor  was  so  sensible  of  the 
honour  done  him  by  a  man  of  genius  and  science,  to  whom 
he  was  an  utter  stranger,  that  he  said  to  Dr.  Burney,  "Sir, 
there  is  no  man  possessed  of  the  smallest  portion  of  modesty, 
but  must  be  flattered  with  the  admiration  of  such  a  man. 
I'll  give  him  a  set  of  my  Lives,  if  he  will  do  me  the  honour 
to  accept  of  them."  In  this  he  kept  his  word;  and  Dr. 
Burney  had  not  only  the  pleasure  of  gratifying  his  friend 
with  a  present  more  worthy  of  his  acceptance  than  the  seg- 
ment from  the  hearth-broom,  but  soon  after  of  introducing 
him  to  Dr.  Johnson  himself  in  Bolt-court,  with  whom  he 
had  the  satisfaction  of  conversing  a  considerable  time,  not 
a  fortnight  before  his  death;  which  happened  in  St.  Martin's- 
street,  during  his  visit  to  Dr.  Burney,  in  the  house  where  the 
great  Sir  Isaac  Newton  had  lived  and  died  before.' 

In  one  of  his  little  msmorandum-books  is  the  following 
minute : — 

'August  9,  3  P.M.,  setat.  72,  in  the  summer-house  at 
Streatham. 

'After  innumerable  resolutions  formed  and  neglected,  I 
have  retired  hither,  to  plan  a  life  of  greater  diligence,  in 
hope  that  I  may  yet  be  useful,  and  be  daily  better  prepared 
to  app)ear  before  my  Creator  and  my  Judge,  from  whose 
infinite  mercy  I  humbly  call  for  assistance  and  support. 

'My  purpose  is, 

'To  pass  eight  hours  every  day  in  some  serious  employ- 
ment. 

'Having  prayed,  I  purpose  to  employ  the  next  six  weeks 
upon  the  Italian  language,  for  my  settled  study.' 

In  autumn  he  went  to  Oxford,  Birmingham,  Lichfield,  and 


1782]  MR.   HECTOR  473 

Ashbourne,  for  which  very  good  reasons  nndght  be  given  in 
the  conjectural  yet  positive  manner  of  writers,  who  are 
proud  to  account  for  every  event  which  they  relate.  He 
himself,  however,  says,  'The  motives  of  my  journey  I  hardly 
know;  I  omitted  it  last  year,  and  am  not  willing  to  miss  it 
again.' 

But  some  good  considerations  arise,  amongst  which  is  the 
kindly  recollection  of  Mr.  Hector,  surgeon  at  Birmingham: 
'Hector  is  likewise  an  old  friend,  the  only  companion  of  my 
childhood  that  passed  through  the  school  with  me.  We 
have  always  loved  one  another;  perhaps  we  may  be  made 
better  by  some  serious  conversation,  of  which  however  I 
have  no  distinct  hope.'  He  says  too,  'At  Lichfield,  my  na- 
tive place,  I  hope  to  shew  a  good  example  by  frequent  at- 
tendance on  publick  worship.' 

1782:  uETAT.  73.] — In  1782,  his  complaints  increased,  and 
the  history  of  his  life  this  year,  is  little  more  than  a  mourn- 
ful recital  of  the  variations  of  his  illness,  in  the  midst  of 
which,  however,  it  will  appear  from  his  letters,  that  the 
powers  of  his  mind  were  in  no  degree  impaired. 

At  a  time  when  he  was  less  able  than  he  had  once  beea 
to  sustain  a  shock,  he  was  suddenly  deprived  of  Mr.  Levett,. 
which  event  he  thus  communicated  to  Dr.  Lawrence: — 

'Sir, — Our  old  friend,  Mr.  Levett,  who  was  last  night- 
eminently  cheerful,  died  this  morning.  The  man  who  lay 
in  the  same  room,  hearing  an  uncommon  noise,  got  up  and 
tried  to  make  him  speak,  but  without  effect.  He  thea 
called  Mr.  Holder,  the  apothecary,  who,  though  when  he 
came  he  thought  him  dead,  opened  a  vein,  but  could  draw 
no  blood.  So  has  ended  the  long  life  of  a  very  useful  and 
very  blameless  man.     I  am,  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant,. 

'Jan.  17,  1782.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

In  one  of  his  memorandum-books  in  my  possession,  is 
the  following  entry: — 'January  20,  Sunday.  Robert  Levett 
was  buried  in  the  church-yard  of  Bridewell,  between  one 
and  two  in  the  afternoon.  He  died  on  Thursday  17,  about 
seven  in  the  morning,  by  an  instantaneous  death.     He  was 


474  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i782 

an  old  and  faithful  friend;  I  have  known  him  from  about  46. 
€ommendavi.  May  God  have  mercy  on  him.  May  he  have 
mercy  on  me.' 

On  the  30th  of  August,  I  informed  him  that  my  honoured 
father  had  died  that  morning;  a  complaint  under  which 
he  had  long  laboured  having  suddenly  come  to  a  crisis, 
while  I  was  upon  a  visit  at  the  seat  of  Sir  Charles  Preston, 
from  whence  I  had  hastened  the  day  before,  upon  receiving 
a  letter  by  express. 

In  answer  to  my  next  letter,  I  received  one  from  him, 
dissuading  me  from  hastening  to  him  as  I  had  proposed; 
what  is  proper  for  publication  is  the  following  paragraph, 
equally  just  and  tender: — 'One  expence,  however,  I  would 
not  have  you  to  spare:  let  nothing  be  omitted  that  can 
preserve  Mrs.  Bos  well,  though  it  should  be  necessary  to 
transplant  her  for  a  time  into  a  softer  climate.  She  is  the 
prop  and  stay  of  your  life.  How  much  must  your  children 
suffer  by  losing  her.' 

My  wife  was  now  so  much  convinced  of  his  sincere  friend- 
ship for  me,  and  regard  for  her,  that,  without  any  sugges- 
tion on  my  part,  she  wrote  him  a  very  polite  and  grateful 
letter: — 

*Dr.  Johnson  to  Mrs.  Boswell. 

'Dear  Lady, — I  have  not  often  received  so  much  pleasure 
as  from  your  invitation  to  Auchinleck.  The  journey  thither 
and  back  is,  indeed,  too  great  for  the  latter  part  of  the  year; 
but  if  my  health  were  fully  recovered,  I  would  suffer  no 
little  heat  and  cold,  nor  a  wet  or  a  rough  road  to  keep  me 
from  you.  I  am,  indeed,  not  without  hope  of  seeing  Auchin- 
leck again;  but  to  make  it  a  pleasant  place  I  must  see  its 
lady  well,  and  brisk,  and  airy.  For  my  sake,  therefore, 
among  many  greater  reasons,  take  care,  dear  Madam,  of 
your  health,  spare  no  expence,  and  want  no  attendance  that 
can  procure  ease,  or  preserve  it.  Be  very  careful  to  keep 
your  mind  quiet;  and  do  not  think  it  too  much  to  give  an 
account  of  your  recovery  to,  Madam,  yours,  &c. 

'London,  Sept.  7,  1782.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 


1782]  LOSS  IN  THRALE'S   DEATH  475 

The  death  of  Mr.  Thrale  had  made  a  very  material  altera- 
tion with  respect  to  Johnson's  reception  in  that  family. 
The  manly  authority  of  the  husband  no  longer  curbed  the 
lively  exuberance  of  the  lady;  and  as  her  vanity  had  been 
fully  gratified,  by  having  the  Colossus  of  Literature  at- 
tached to  her  for  many  years,  she  gradually  became  less 
assiduous  to  please  him.  Whether  her  attachment  to  him 
was  already  divided  by  another  object,  I  am  unable  to 
ascertain;  but  it  is  plain  that  Johnson's  penetration  was 
alive  to  her  neglect  or  forced  attention;  for  on  the  6th  of 
October  this  year,  we  find  him  making  a  'parting  use  of 
the  library'  at  Streatham,  and  pronouncing  a  prayer,  which 
he  composed  on  leaving  Mr.  Thrale's  family: — 

'Almighty  God,  Father  of  all  mercy,  help  me  by  thy 
grace,  that  I  may,  with  humble  and  sincere  thankfulness, 
remember  the  comforts  and  conveniences  which  I  have 
enjoyed  at  this  place;  and  that  I  may  resign  them  with 
holy  submission,  equally  trusting  in  thy  protection  when 
thou  givest,  and  when  thou  takest  away.  Have  mercy 
upon  me,  0  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  me. 

'To  thy  fatherly  protection,  0  Lord,  I  commend  this 
family.  Bless,  guide,  and  defend  them,  that  they  may  so 
pass  through  this  world,  as  finally  to  enjoy  in  thy  presence 
everlasting  happiness,  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake.     Amen.' 

One  cannot  read  this  prayer,  without  some  emotions  not 
very  favourable  to  the  lady  whose  conduct  occasioned  it. 

In  one  of  his  memorandum-books  I  find,  'Sunday,  went 
to  church  at  Streatham.     Templo  valedixi  cum  osculo.' 

He  met  Mr.  Philip  Metcalfe  often  at  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds's, and  other  places,  and  was  a  good  deal  with  him  at 
Brighthelmston  this  autumn,  being  pleased  at  once  with  his 
excellent  table  and  animated  conversation.  Mr.  Metcalfe 
shewed  him  great  respect,  and  sent  him  a  note  that  he 
might  have  the  use  of  his  carriage  whenever  he  pleased. 
Johnson  (3rd  October,  1782)  returned  this  polite  answer: — 
'Mr.  Johnson  is  very  much  obliged  by  the  kind  offer  of  the 
carriage,  but  he  has  no  desire  of  using  Mr.  Metcalfe's  car- 
riage, except  when  he  can  have  the  pleasure  of  Mr.  Met- 
calfe's company.'     Mr.  Metcalfe  could  not  but  be  highly 


476  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i783 

pleased  that  his  company  was  thus  valued  by  Johnson,  and 
he  frequently  attended  him  in  airings.  They  also  went  to- 
gether to  Chichester,  and  they  visited  Petworth,  and  Cowdry, 
the  venerable  seat  of  the  Lords  Montacute.  'Sir,  (said 
Johnson,)  I  should  like  to  stay  here  four-and-twenty  hours. 
We  see  here  how  our  ancestors  lived.' 


'To  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

'Dear  Sir, — I  heard  yesterday  of  your  late  disorder,  and 
should  think  ill  of  myself  if  I  had  heard  of  it  without  alarm. 
I  heard  likewise  of  your  recovery,  which  I  sincerely  wish 
to  be  complete  and  permanent.  Your  country  has  been  in 
danger  of  losing  one  of  its  brightest  ornaments,  and  I  of  losing 
one  of  my  oldest  and  kindest  friends:  but  I  hope  you  will 
still  live  long,  for  the  honour  of  the  nation:  and  that  more 
enjoyment  of  your  elegance,  your  intelligence,  and  your 
benevolence,  is  still  reserved  for,  dear  Sir,  your  most  affec- 
tionate, &c. 

'Brighthelmston,  Nov.  14,  1782.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

1783:  ^tat.  74.] — In  1783,  he  was  more  severely  afflicted 
than  ever,  as  will  appear  in  the  course  of  his  correspondence; 
but  still  the  same  ardour  for  literature,  the  same  constant 
piety,  the  same  kindness  for  his  friends,  and  the  same  vivac- 
ity both  in  conversation  and  writing,  distinguished  him. 

On  Friday,  March  21,  having  arrived  in  London  the  night 
before,  I  was  glad  to  find  him  at  Mrs,  Thrale's  house,  in 
Argyll-street,  appearances  of  friendship  between  them  being 
still  kept  up.  I  was  shewn  into  his  room,  and  after  the  first 
salutation  he  said,  'I  am  glad  you  are  come.  I  am  very  ill.' 
He  looked  pale,  and  was  distressed  with  a  diflBculty  of  breath- 
ing; but  after  the  common  inquiries  he  assumed  his  usual 
strong  animated  style  of  conversation.  Seeing  me  now  for 
the  first  time  as  a  Laird,  or  proprietor  of  land,  he  began  thus: 
'Sir,  the  superiority  of  a  country-gentleman  over  the  people 
upon  his  estate  is  very  agreeable;  and  he  who  says  he  does 
not  feel  it  to  be  agreeable,  lies;  for  it  must  be  agreeable  to 
have  a  casual  superiority  over  those  who  are  by  nature 


1783]       THE  HANOVERIANS  AND  STUARTS         477 

equal  with  Us.'  Boswell.  'Yet,  Sir,  we  see  great  pro- 
prietors of  land  who  prefer  living  in  London.'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  the  pleasure  of  living  in  London,  the  intellectual 
superiority  that  is  enjoyed  there,  may  counterbalance  the 
other.  Besides,  Sir,  a  man  may  prefer  the  state  of  the 
country-gentleman  upon  the  whole,  and  yet  there  may  never 
be  a  moment  when  he  is  willing  to  make  the  change  to  quit 
London  for  it.' 

He  talked  with  regret  and  indignation  of  the  factious  oppo- 
sition to  Government  at  this  time,  and  imputed  it  in  a  great 
measure  to  the  Revolution.  'Sir,  (said  he,  in  a  low  voice, 
having  come  nearer  to  me,  while  his  old  prejudices  seemed  to 
be  fermenting  in  his  mind,)  this  Hanoverian  family  is  isolee 
here.  They  have  no  friends.  Now  the  Stuarts  had  friends 
who  stuck  by  them  so  late  as  1745.  When  the  right  of  the 
King  is  not  reverenced,  there  will  not  be  reverence  for  those 
appointed  by  the  King.' 

He  repeated  to  me  his  verses  on  Mr.  Levett,  with  an  emo- 
tion which  gave  them  full  effect;  and  then  he  was  pleased  to 
say,  'You  must  be  as  much  with  me  as  you  can.  You  have 
done  me  good.  You  cannot  think  how  much  better  I  am 
since  you  came  in.' 

He  sent  a  message  to  acquaint  Mrs.  Thrale  that  I  was 
arrived.  I  had  not  seen  her  since  her  husband's  death.  She 
soon  appeared,  and  favoured  me  with  an  invitation  to  stay 
to  dinner,  which  I  accepted.  There  was  no  other  company 
but  herself  and  three  of  her  daughters.  Dr.  Johnson,  and  I. 
She  too  said,  she  was  very  glad  I  was  come,  for  she  was 
going  to  Bath,  and  should  have  been  sorry  to  leave  Dr. 
Johnson  before  1  came.  This  seemed  to  be  attentive  and 
kind;  and  I  who  had  not  been  informed  of  any  change, 
imagined  all  to  be  as  well  as  formerly.  He  was  little  in- 
clined to  talk  at  dinner,  and  went  to  sleep  after  it;  but 
when  he  joined  us  in  the  drawing-room,  he  seemed  revived, 
and  was  again  himself. 

Talking  of  conversation,  he  said,  'There  must,  in  the  first 
place,  be  knowledge,  there  must  be  materials;  in  the  sec- 
ond place,  there  must  be  a  command  of  words;  in  the  third 
place,  there  must  be  imagination,  to  place  things  in  such. 


478  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i783 

views  as  they  are  not  commonly  seen  in;  and  in  the  fourth 
place,  there  must  be  presence  of  mind,  and  a  resolution  that 
is  not  to  be  overcome  by  failures:  this  last  is  an  essential 
requisite;  for  want  of  it  many  people  do  not  excel  in  conver- 
sation. Now  /  want  it:  I  throw  up  the  game  upon  losing 
a  trick.'  I  wondered  to  hear  him  talk  thus  of  himself,  and 
said,  'I  don't  know.  Sir,  how  this  may  be;  but  I  am  sure  you 
beat  other  people's  cards  out  of  their  hands.'  I  doubt 
"whether  he  heard  this  remark.  While  he  went  on  talking 
triumphantly,  I  was  fixed  in  admiration,  and  said  to  Mrs. 
Thrale,  '0,  for  short-hand  to  take  this  down!'  'You'll 
carry  it  all  in  your  head,  (said  she;)  a  long  head  is  as  good 
as  short-hand.' 

It  has  been  observed  and  wondered  at,-  that  Mr.  Charles 
Pox  never  talked  with  any  freedom  in  the  presence  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  though  it  is  well  known,  and  I  myself  can  witness, 
that  his  conversation  is  various,  fluent,  and  exceedingly 
agreeable.  Johnson's  own  experience,  however,  of  that 
gentleman's  reserve  was  a  sufficient  reason  for  his  going  on 
thus:  'Fox  never  talks  in  private  company;  not  from  any 
determination  not  to  talk,  but  because  he  has  not  the  first 
motion.  A  man  who  is  used  to  the  applause  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  has  no  wish  for  that  of  a  private  company.  A 
man  accustomed  to  throw  for  a  thousand  pounds,  if  set 
down  to  throw  for  sixjjence,  would  not  be  at  the  pains  to 
count  his  dice.  Burke's  talk  is  the  ebullition  of  his  mind; 
he  does  not  talk  from  a  desire  of  distinction,  but  because  his 
mind  is  full.' 

After  musing  for  some  time,  he  said,  'I  wonder  how  I 
should  have  any  enemies;  for  I  do  harm  to  nobody.'  Bos- 
well.  'In  the  first  place.  Sir,  you  will  be  pleased  to  recol- 
lect, that  you  set  out  with  attacking  the  Scotch;  so  you  got 
a  whole  nation  for  your  enemies.'  Johnson.  *  Why,  I  own, 
that  by  my  definition  of  oats  I  meant  to  vex  them.'  Bos- 
well.  *  Pray,  Sir,  can  you  trace  the  cause  of  your  antipathy 
to  the  Scotch?'  Johnson.  *I  cannot.  Sir.'  Boswell. 
'Old  Mr.  Sheridan  says,  it  was  because  they  sold  Charles 
the  First.'  Johnson.  'Then,  Sir,  old  Mr.  Sheridan  has 
found  out  a  very  good  reason.' 


1783]        VISIT  TO  GENERAL  OGLETHORPE  479 

I  had  paid  a  visit  to  General  Oglethorpe  in  the  morning,^ 
and  was  told  by  him  that  Dr.  Johnson  saw  company  on 
Saturday  evenings,  and  he  would  meet  me  at  Johnson's  that 
night.  When  I  mentioned  this  to  Johnson,  not  doubting 
that  it  would  please  him,  as  he  had  a  great  value  for  Ogle- 
thorpe, the  fretfulness  of  his  disease  unexpectedly  shewed 
itself;  his  anger  suddenly  kindled,  and  he  said,  with  vehe- 
mence, 'Did  not  you  tell  him  not  to  come?  Am  I  to  be 
hunted  in  this  manner?'  I  satisfied  him  that  I  could  not 
divine  that  the  visit  would  not  be  convenient,  and  that  I 
certainly  could  not  take  it  upon  me  of  my  own  accord  to 
forbid  the  General. 

I  found  Dr.  Johnson  in  the  evening  in  Mrs.  WilUams's 
room,  at  tea  and  coffee  with  her  and  Mrs.  Desraoulins,  who 
were  also  both  ill;  it  was  a  sad  scene,  and  he  was  not  in  very 
good  humour.  He  said  of  a  performance  that  had  lately 
come  out,  'Sir,  if  you  should  search  all  the  madhouses  in 
England,  you  would  not  find  ten  men  who  would  write  so, 
and  think  it  sense.' 

I  was  glad  when  General  Oglethorpe's  arrival  was  an- 
nounced, and  we  left  the  ladies.  Dr.  Johnson  attended  him 
in  the  parlour,  and  was  as  courteous  as  ever. 

On  Sunday,  March  23,  I  breakfasted  with  Dr.  Johnson, 
who  seemed  much  relieved,  having  taken  opium  the  night 
before.  He  however  protested  against  it,  as  a  remedy  that 
should  be  given  with  the  utmost  reluctance,  and  only  in  ex- 
treme necessity.  I  mentioned  how  commonly  it  was  used  in 
Turkey,  and  that  therefore  it  could  not  be  so  pernicious  as 
he  apprehended.  He  grew  warm  and  said,  'Turks  take 
opium,  and  Christians  take  opium;  but  Russel,  in  his  Ac- 
count of  Aleppo,  tells  us,  that  it  is  as  disgraceful  in  Turkey 
to  take  too  much  opium,  as  it  is  with  us  to  get  drunk.  Sir, 
it  is  amazing  how  things  are  exaggerated.  A  gentleman  was 
lately  telling  in  a  company  where  I  was  present,  that  in 
France  as  soon  as  a  man  of  fashion  marries,  he  takes  an 
opera  girl  into  keeping;  and  this  he  mentioned  as  a  general 
custom.  "Pray,  Sir,  (said  I,)  how  many  opera  girls  may 
there  be?"    He  answered,  "About  fourscore."     "Well  then, 

»  March  22. — Ed. 


480  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i783 

Sir,  (said  I,)  you  see  there  can  be  no  more  than  fourscore 
men  of  fashion  who  can  do  this.'" 

Mrs.  Desmoulins  made  tea;  and  she  and  I  talked  before 
him  upon  a  topick  which  he  had  once  borne  patiently  from 
me  when  we  were  by  ourselves, — his  not  complaining  of  the 
world,  because  he  was  not  called  to  some  great  office,  nor 
had  attained  to  great  wealth.  He  flew  into  a  violent  pas- 
sion, I  confess  with  some  justice,  and  commanded  us  to 
have  done.  'Nobody,  (said  he,)  has  a  right  to  talk  in  this 
manner,  to  bring  before  a  man  his  own  character,  and  the 
events  of  his  life,  when  he  does  not  choose  it  should  be  done. 
I  never  have  sought  the  world;  the  world  was  not  to  seek 
me.  It  is  rather  wonderful  that  so  much  has  been  done  for 
me.  All  the  complaints  which  are  made  of  the  world  are 
unjust.  I  never  knew  a  man  of  merit  neglected:  it  was 
generally  by  his  own  fault  that  he  failed  of  success.  A  man 
may  hide  his  head  in  a  hole:  he  may  go  into  the  country, 
and  publish  a  book  now  and  then,  which  nobody  reads,  and 
then  complain  he  is  neglected.  There  is  no  reason  why  any 
person  should  exert  himself  for  a  man  who  has  written  a 
good  book:  he  has  not  written  it  for  any  individual.  I  may 
as  well  make  a  present  to  the  postman  who  brings  me  a 
letter.  When  patronage  was  hmited,  an  authour  expected 
to  find  a  Maecenas,  and  complained  if  he  did  not  find  one. 
Why  should  he  complain?  This  Maecenas  has  others  as 
good  as  he,  or  others  who  have  got  the  start  of  him.' 

On  the  subject  of  the  right  employment  of  wealth,  Johnson 
observed,  'A  man  cannot  make  a  bad  use  of  his  money,  so 
far  as  regards  Society,  if  he  does  not  hoard  it;  for  if  he  either 
spends  it  or  lends  it  out,  Society  has  the  benefit.  It  is  in 
general  better  to  spend  money  than  to  give  it  away;  for  in- 
dustry is  more  promoted  by  spending  money  than  by  giving 
it  away.  A  man  who  spends  his  money  is  sure  he  is  doing 
good  with  it:  he  is  not  so  sure  when  he  gives  it  away.  A 
man  who  spends  ten  thousand  a  year  will  do  more  good  than 
a  man  who  spends  two  thousand  and  gives  away  eight.' 

In  the  evening  I  came  to  him  again.  He  was  somewhat 
fretful  from  his  illness.  A  gentleman  asked  him,  whether  he 
had  been  abroad  to-day.     '  Don't  talk  so  childishly,  (said  he.) 


1783]  GOLDSMITH'S  BLUNDER  481 

You  may  as  well  ask  if  I  hanged  myself  to-day.'  I  men- 
tioned politicks.  Johnson.  'Sir,  I'd  as  soon  have  a  man 
to  break  my  bones  as  talk  to  me  of  publick  affairs,  internal 
or  external.  I  have  lived  to  see  things  all  as  bad  as  they 
can  be.' 

He  said,  'Goldsmith's  blundering  speech  to  Lord  Shel- 
burne,  which  has  been  so  often  mentioned,  and  which  he 
really  did  make  to  him,  was  only  a  blunder  in  emphasis: 
"I  wonder  they  should  call  your  Lordship  Malagrida,  for 
Malagrida  was  a  very  good  man;"  meant,  I  wonder  they 
should  use  Malagrida  as  a  term  of  reproach.' 

Soon  after  this  time  I  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing,  by 
means  of  one  of  his  friends,  a  proof  that  his  talents,  as  well 
as  his  obliging  service  to  aut hours,  were  ready  as  ever.  He 
had  revised  The  Village,  an  admirable  poem,  by  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Crabbe.  Its  sentiments  as  to  the  false  notions  of  rus- 
tick  happiness  and  rustick  virtue  were  quite  congenial  with 
his  own;  and  he  had  taken  the  trouble  not  only  to  suggest 
slight  corrections  and  variations,  but  to  furnish  some  lines, 
when  he  thought  he  could  give  the  writer's  meaning  better 
than  in  the  words  of  the  manuscript. 

On  Sunday,  March  30, 1  found  him  at  home  in  the  evening, 
and  had  the  pleasure  to  meet  with  Dr.  Brocklesby,  whose 
reading,  and  knowledge  of  life,  and  good  spirits,  supply  him 
with  a  never-failing  source  of  conversation. 

I  shall  here  insert  a  few  of  Johnson's  sayings,  without  the 
formality  of  dates,  as  they  have  no  reference  to  any  par- 
ticular time  or  place. 

'The  more  a  man  extends  and  varies  his  acquaintance  the 
better.'  This,  however,  was  meant  with  a  just  restriction; 
for,  he  on  another  occasion  said  to  me,  'Sir,  a  man  may  be 
so  much  of  every  thing,  that  he  is  nothing  of  any  thing.' 

'It  is  a  very  good  custom  to  keep  a  journal  for  a  man's 
own  use;  he  may  write  upon  a  card  a  day  all  that  is  neces- 
sary to  be  written,  after  he  has  had  experience  of  life.  At 
first  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  written,  because  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  novelty;  but  when  once  a  man  has  settled  his 
opinions,  there  is  seldom  much  to  be  set  down.' 

Talking  of  an  acquaintance  of  ours,   whose  narratives, 


482  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i783 

which  abounded  in  curious  and  interesting  topicks,  were  un- 
happily found  to  be  very  fabulous;  I  mentioned  Lord  Mans- 
field's having  said  to  me,  'Suppose  we  believe  one  half  of 
what  he  tells.'  Johnson.  'Ay;  but  we  don't  know  which 
half  to  believe.  By  his  lying  we  lose  not  only  our  reverence 
for  him,  but  all  comfort  in  his  conversation.'  Boswell. 
'May  we  not  take  it  as  amusing  fiction?'  Johnson.  'Sir, 
the  misfortune  is,  that  you  will  insensibly  believe  as  much  of 
it  as  you  incline  to  believe.' 

It  is  remarkable,  that  notwithstanding  their  congeniality 
in  politicks,  he  never  was  acquainted  with  a  late  eminent 
noble  judge,  whom  I  have  heard  speak  of  him  as  a  writer, 
with  great  respect.  Johnson,  I  know  not  upon  what  degree 
of  investigation,  entertained  no  exalted  opinion  of  his  Lord- 
ship's intellectual  character.  Talking  of  him  to  me  one  day, 
he  said,  'It  is  wonderful,  Sir,  with  how  little  real  superiority 
of  mind  men  can  make  an  eminent  figure  in  publick  life.'  He 
expressed  himself  to  the  same  purpose  concerning  another 
law-Lord,  who,  it  seems,  once  took  a  fancy  to  associate  with 
the  wits  of  London;  but  with  so  little  success,  that  Foote 
said,  'What  can  he  mean  by  coming  among  us?  He  is  not 
only  dull  himself,  but  the  cause  of  dullness  in  others.'  Try- 
ing him  by  the  test  of  his  colloquial  powers,  Johnson  had 
found  him  very  defective.  He  once  said  to  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, 'This  man  now  has  been  ten  years  about  town,  and 
has  made  nothing  of  it;'  meaning  as  a  companion.  He  said 
to  me,  'I  never  heard  any  thing  from  him  in  company  that 
was  at  all  striking;  and  depend  upon  it,  Sir,  it  is  when  you 
come  close  to  a  man  in  conversation,  that  you  discover  what 
his  real  abilities  are;  to  make  a  speech  in  a  publick  assembly 
is  a  knack.  Now  I  honour  Thurlow,  Sir;  Thurlow  is  a  fine 
fellow;  he  fairly  puts  his  mind  to  yours.' 

After  repeating  to  him  some  of  his  pointed,  lively  sayings, 
I  said,  'It  is  a  pity,  Sir,  you  don't  always  remember  your 
own  good  things,  that  you  may  have  a  laugh  when  you  will.' 
Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir,  it  is  better  that  I  forget  them,  that  I 
may  be  reminded  of  them,  and  have  a  laugh  on  their  being 
brought  to  my  recollection.' 

When  I  recalled  to  him  his  having  said  as  we  sailed  up 


1783]  INSCRIPTION   ON   JOHNSON'S   PORTRAIT  48a 

Loch-lomond,  'That  if  he  wore  any  thing  fine,  it  should  be 
very  fine;'  I  observed  that  all  his  thoughts  were  upon  a  great 
scale.  Johnson.  '  Depend  upon  it,  Sir,  every  man  will  have 
as  fine  a  thing  as  he  can  get;  as  a  large  diamond  for  his  ring.' 
BoswELL.  'Pardon  me.  Sir:  a  man  of  a  narrow  mind  will 
not  think  of  it,  a  slight  trinket  will  satisfy  him: 

"Nee  sufferre  queat  majoris  pondera  gemmcB.'" 

I  told  him  I  should  send  him  some  Essays  which  I  had 
written,  which  I  hoped  he  would  be  so  good  as  to  read,  and 
pick  out  the  good  ones.  Johnson.  '  Nay,  Sir,  send  me  only 
the  good  ones;  don't  make  me  pick  them.' 

As  a  small  proof  of  his  kindliness  and  delicacy  of  feeling, 
the  following  circumstance  may  be  mentioned:  One  evening 
when  we  were  in  the  street  together,  and  I  told  him  I  was 
going  to  sup  at  Mr.  Beauclerk's,  he  said,  'I'll  go  with  you.' 
After  having  walked  part  of  the  way,  seeming  to  recollect 
something,  he  suddenly  stopped  and  said,  '  I  cannot  go, — but 
/  do  not  love  BeaiLclerk  the  less.' 

On  the  frame  of  his  portrait,  Mr.  Beauclerk  had  inscribed, — 

Ingenium  ingens 


Incidto  latet  hoc  sub  corpore.' 

After  Mr.  Beauclerk's  death,  when  it  became  Mr.  Langton's 
property,  he  made  the  inscription  be  defaced.  Johnson  said 
complacently,  'It  was  kind  in  you  to  take  it  off;'  and  then 
after  a  short  pause,  added,  'and  not  unkind  in  him  to  put 
it  on.' 

He  said,  'How  few  of  his  friends'  houses  would  a  man 
choose  to  be  at  when  he  is  sick.'  He  mentioned  one  or  two. 
I  recollect  only  Thrale's. 

He  observed,  '  There  is  a  wicked  inclination  in  most  people 
to  suppose  an  old  man  decayed  in  his  intellects.  If  a  young 
or  middle-aged  man,  when  leaving  a  company,  does  not 
recollect  where  he  laid  his  hat,  it  is  nothing;  but  if  the  same 
inattention  is  discovered  in  an  old  man,  people  will  shrug  up 
their  shoulders,  and  say,  "His  memory  is  going.'" 


484  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i783 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  communicated  to  me  the  following 
particulars : — 

Johnson  thought  the  poems  published  as  translations  from 
Ossian  had  so  little  merit,  that  he  said,  'Sir,  a  man  might 
write  such  stuff  for  ever,  if  he  would  abandon  his  mind  to  it.' 

He  said,  'A  man  should  pass  a  part  of  his  time  with  the 
laughers,  by  which  means  any  thing  ridiculous  or  particular 
about  him  might  be  presented  to  his  view,  and  corrected.' 
I  observed,  he  must  have  been  a  bold  laugher  who  would 
have  ventured  to  tell  Dr.  Johnson  of  any  of  his  particu- 
larities.^ 

Dr.  Goldsmith  said  once  to  Dr.  Johnson,  that  he  wished 
for  some  additional  members  to  The  Literary  Club,  to  give 
it  an  agreeable  variety;  for  (said  he,)  there  can  now  be 
nothing  new  among  us :  we  have  travelled  over  one  another's 
minds.  Johnson  seemed  a  little  angry,  and  said,  'Sir,  you 
have  not  travelled  over  my  mind,  I  promise  you.'  Sir 
Joshua,  however,  thought  Goldsmith  right;  observing,  that 
'when  people  have  lived  a  great  deal  together,  they  know 
what  each  of  them  will  say  on  every  subject.  A  new  under- 
standing, therefore,  is  desirable;  because  though  it  may 
only  furnish  the  same  sense  upon  a  question  which  would 
have  been  furnished  by  those  with  whom  we  are  accustomed 
to  live,  yet  this  sense  will  have  a  different  colouring;  and 
colouring  is  of  much  effect  in  every  thing  else  as  well  as  in 
painting.' 

Johnson  used  to  say  that  he  made  it  a  constant  rule  to  talk 
as  well  as  he  could  both  as  to  sentiment  and  expression,  by 
which  means,  what  had  been  originally  effort  became  familiar 
and  easy.  The  consequence  of  this,  Sir  Joshua  observed, 
was,  that  his  common  conversation  in  all  companies  was 
such  as  to  secure  him  universal  attention,  as  something 
above  the  usual  colloquial  style  was  expected. 

>  I  am  happy,  however,  to  mention  a  pleasing  instance  of  his  enduring 
with  great  gentleness  to  hear  one  of  his  most  striking  particularities 
pointed  out: — Miss  Hunter,  a  niece  of  his  friend  Christopher  Smart, 
when  a  very  young  girl,  struck  by  his  extraordinary  motions,  said  to 
him,  'Pray,  Dr.  Johnson,  why  do  you  make  such  strange  gestures?' 
'From  bad  habit,"  he  replied.  'Do  you,  my  dear,  take  care  to  g^uard 
again.st  bad  habits."  This  I  was  told  by  the  young  lady's  brother  at 
Margate. — Bobwbll. 


1783]  DEXTERITY  IN  RETORT  485 

Yet,  though  Johnson  had  this  habit  in  company,  when 
another  mode  was  necessary,  in  order  to  investigate  truth, 
he  could  descend  to  a  language  intelligible  to  the  meanest 
capacity.  An  instance  of  this  was  witnessed  by  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  when  they  were  present  at  an  examination  of 
a  little  blackguard  boy,  by  Mr.  Saunders  Welch,  the  late 
Westminster  Justice.  Welch,  who  imagined  that  he  was 
exalting  himself  in  Dr.  Johnson's  eyes  by  using  big  words, 
spoke  in  a  manner  that  was  utterly  unintelligible  to  the  boy; 
Dr.  Johnson  perceiving  it,  addressed  himself  to  the  boy,  and 
changed  the  pompous  phraseology  into  colloquial  language. 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  was  much  amused  by  this  pro- 
cedure, which  seemed  a  kind  of  reversing  of  what  might  have 
been  expected  from  the  two  men,  took  notice  of  it  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  as  they  walked  away  by  themselves.  Johnson 
said,  that  it  was  continually  the  case;  and  that  he  was 
always  obliged  to  translate  the  Justice's  swelling  diction, 
(smiling,)  so  as  that  his  meaning  might  be  understood  by  the 
vulgar,  from  whom  information  was  to  be  obtained.  ' 

Sir  Joshua  once  observed  to  him,  that  he  had  talked  above 
the  capacity  of  some  people  with  whom  they  had  beeii  in 
company  together.  'No  matter.  Sir,  (said  Johhson;)  they 
consider  it  as  a  compliment  to  be  talked  to,  as  if  they  were 
wiser  than  they  are.  So  true  is  this,  Sir,  that  Baxter  made 
it  a  rule  in  every  sermon  that  he  preached,  to  say  something 
that  was  above  the  capacity  of  his  audience.' 

Johnson's  dexterity  in  retort,  when  he  seemed  to  be  driven 
to  an  extremity  by  his  adversary,  was  very  remarkable.  Of 
his  power  in  this  respect,  our  common  friend,  Mr.  Windham, 
of  Norfolk,  has  been  pleased  to  furnish  me  with  an  eminent 
instance.  However  unfavourable  to  Scotland,  he  uniformly 
gave  liberal  praise  to  George  Buchanan,  as  a  writer.  In 
a  conversation  concerning  the  literary  merits  of  the  two 
countries,  in  which  Buchanan  was  introduced,  a  Scotchman, 
imagining  that  on  this  ground  he  should  have  an  undoubted 
triumph  over  him,  exclaimed,  'Ah,  Dr.  Johnson,  what  would 
you  have  said  of  Buchanan,  had  he  been  an  Englishman?' 
'Why,  Sir,  (said  Johnson,  after  a  little  pause,)  I  should  not 
have  said  of  Buchanan,  had  he  been  an  Englishman,  what 


486  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i783 

I  will  now  say  of  him  as  a  Scotchman, — that  he  was  the  only 
man  of  genius  his  country  ever  produced.' 

Though  his  usual  phrase  for  conversation  was  talk,  yet  he 
made  a  distinction;  for  when  he  once  told  me  that  he  dined 
the  day  before  at  a  friend's  house,  with  'a  very  pretty  com- 
pany;' and  I  asked  him  if  there  was  good  conversation,  he 
answered,  'No,  Sir;  we  had  talk  enough,  but  no  conversation; 
there  was  nothing  discussed.' 

Such  was  his  sensibility,  and  so  much  was  he  affected  by 
pathetick  poetry,  that,  when  he  was  reading  Dr.  Beattie's 
Hermit  in  my  presence,  it  brought  tears  into  his  eyes. 

Mr.  Hoole  told  him,  he  was  born  in  Moorfields,  and  had 
received  part  of  his  early  instruction  in  Grub-street.  'Sir, 
(said  Johnson,  smiling,)  you  have  been  regularly  educated.' 
Having  asked  who  was  his  instructor,  and  Mr.  Hoole  having 
answered,  'My  uncle.  Sir,  who  was  a  taylor;'  Johnson,  recol- 
lecting himself,  said,  'Sir,  I  knew  him;  we  called  him  the 
metaphysical  taylor.  He  was  of  a  club  in  Old-street,  with 
me  and  George  Psalmanazar,  and  some  others:  but  pray, 
Sir,  was  he  a  good  taylor  ? '  Mr.  Hoole  having  answered  that 
he  believed  he  was  too  mathematical,  and  used  to  draw 
squares  and  triangles  on  his  shop-board,  so  that  he  did  not 
excel  in  the  cut  of  a  coat; — 'I  am  sorry  for  it  (said  Johnson,) 
for  I  would  have  every  man  to  be  master  of  his  own  business.' 

In  pleasant  reference  to  himself  and  Mr.  Hoole,  as  brother 
authours,  he  often  said,  'Let  you  and  I,  Sir,  go  together,  and 
eat  a  beef-steak  in  Grub-street.' 

He  said  to  Sir  William  Scott,  'The  age  is  running  mad 
after  innovation;  all  the  business  of  the  world  is  to  be  done 
in  a  new  way;  men  are  to  be  hanged  in  a  new  way;  Tyburn 
itself  is  not  safe  from  the  fury  of  innovation.'  It  having 
been  argued  that  this  was  an  improvement, — 'No,  Sir,  (said 
he,  eagerly,)  it  is  n^t  an  improvement:  they  object  that  the 
old  method  drew  together  a  number  of  spectators.  Sir, 
executions  are  intended  to  draw  sp>ectators.  If  they  do  not 
draw  spectators  they  don't  answer  their  purpose.  The  old 
method  was  most  satisfactory  to  all  parties;  the  publick 
was  gratified  by  a  procession;  the  criminal  was  supported 
by  it.    Why  is  all  this  to  be  swept  away?'    I  perfectly  agree 


17831  PRECISION  IN  EXPRESSION  487 

with  Dr.  Johnson  upon  this  head,  and  am  persuaded  that 
executions  now,  the  solemn  procession  being  discontinued, 
have  not  nearly  the  effect  which  they  formerly  had.  Magis- 
trates both  in  London,  and  elsewhere,  have,  I  am  afraid,  in 
this  had  too  much  regard  to  their  own  ease. 

Johnson's  attention  to  precision  and  clearness  in  expres- 
sion was  very  remarkable.  He  disapproved  of  parentheses; 
and  I  believe  in  all  his  voluminous  writings,  not  half  a  dozen 
of  them  will  be  found.  He  never  used  the  phrases  the  former 
and  the  latter,  having  observed,  that  they  often  occasioned 
obscurity;  he  therefore  contrived  to  construct  his  sentences 
so  as  not  to  have  occasion  for  them,  and  would  even  rather 
repeat  the  same  words,  in  order  to  avoid  them.  Nothing  is 
more  common  than  to  mistake  surnames  when  we  hear  them 
carelessly  uttered  for  the  first  time.  To  prevent  this,  he 
used  not  only  to  pronounce  them  slowly  and  distinctly,  but 
to  take  the  trouble  of  spelling  them;  a  practice  which  I  have 
often  followed;  and  which  I  wish  were  general. 

Such  was  the  heat  and  irritability  of  his  blood,  that  not 
only  did  he  pare  his  nails  to  the  quick;  but  scraped  the 
joints  of  his  fingers  with  a  pen-knife,  till  they  seemed  quite 
red  and  raw. 

The  heterogeneous  composition  of  human  nature  was  re- 
markably exemplified  in  Johnson.  His  liberality  in  giving 
his  money  to  persons  in  distress  was  extraordinary.  Yet 
there  lurked  about  him  a  propensity  to  paultry  saving.  One 
day  I  owned  to  him  that  'I  was  occasionally  troubled  with 
a  fit  of  narrowness.'  'Why,  Sir,  (said  he,)  so  am  I.  But  I  do 
not  tell  it.'  He  has  now  and  then  borrowed  a  shilling  of  me; 
and  when  I  asked  for  it  again,  seemed  to  be  rather  out  of 
humour.  A  droll  little  circumstance  once  occurred:  as  if 
he  meant  to  reprimand  my  minute  exactness  as  a  creditor, 
he  thus  addressed  me; — 'Boswell,  lend  me  sixpence — not  to 
be  repaid.' 

This  great  man's  attention  to  small  things  was  very  re- 
markable. As  an  instance  of  it,  he  one  day  said  to  me,  'Sir, 
when  you  get  silver  in  change  for  a  guinea,  look  carefully  at 
it;  you  may  find  some  curious  piece  of  coin.' 

Though  a  stern  true-born  Englishman,  and  fully  prejudiced 


^8;  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  IiTsa 

against  all  other  nations,  he  had  discernment  enough  to  see, 
and  candour  enough  to  censure,  the  cold  reserve  too  common 
among  Englishmen  towards  strangers:  'Sir,  (said  he,)  two 
men  of  any  other  nation  who  are  shewn  into  a  room  together, 
at  a  house  where  they  are  both  visitors,  will  immediately  find 
some  conversation.  But  two  Englishmen  will  probably  go 
each  to  a  different  window,  and  remain  in  obstinate  silence. 
Sir,  we  as  yet  do  not  enough  understand  the  common  rights 
of  humanity.' 

Johnson,  for  sport  perhaps,  or  from  the  spirit  of  contra- 
diction, eagefly  maintained  that  Derrick  had  merit  as  a 
writer.     Mr.  Morgann^  argued  with  him  directly,  in  vain. 
At  length  he  had  recourse  to  this  device.     'Pray,  Sir,  (said 
^'  he,)  whether  do  you  reckon  Derrick  or  Smart  the  best  poet?' 
■Johnson  at  once  felt  himself  roused;    and  answered,  'Sir, 
'  'there  is  no  settling  the  point  of  precedency  between  a  louse 
'••and  a  flea.' 

"  He  was  pleased  to  say  to  me  one  morning  when  we  were 
left  alone  in  his  study,  'Boswell,  I  think  I  am  easier  with 
you  than  with  almost  any  body.' 

He  would  not  allow  Mr.  David  Hume  any  credit  for  his 
political  principles,  though  similar  to  his  own;  saying  of 
him,  ^Sir,  he  was  a  Tory  by  chance.' 

His  acute  observation  of  human  life  made  him  remark, 

'Sir,  there  is  nothing  by  which  a  man  exasperates  most 

»i'  people  more,  than  by  displaying  a  superiour  ability  or  bril- 

''  liancy  in  conversation.    They  seem  pleased  at  the  time; 

■    but  their  envy  makes  them  curse  him  in  their  hearts.' 

Johnson's  love  of  little  children,  which  he  discovered  upon 
all  occasions,  calling  them  'pretty  dears,'  and  giving  them 
'sweetmeats,  was  an  undoubted  proof  of  the  real  humanity 
•  and  gentleness  of  his  disposition. 

His  uncommon  kindness  to  his  servants,  and  serious  con- 
cern, not  only  for  their  comfort  in  this  world,  but  their  hap- 
piness in  the  next,  was  another  unquestionable  evidence  of 
what  all,  who  were  intimately  acquainted  with  him,  knew 
to  be  true. 
Nor  would  it  be  just,  under  this  head,  to  omit  the  fondness 

'  Author  of  the  Essay  on  the  Character  of  Falstaff. — Ed. 


1783]  HIS  CAT,  HODGE  489 

which  he  shewed  for  animals  which  he  had  taken  under  his 
protection.  I  never  shall  forget  the  indulgence  with  which  he 
treated  Hodge,  his  cat:  for  whom  he  himself  used  to  go  out 
and  buy  oysters,  lest  the  servants  having  that  trouble  should 
take  a  dislike  to  the  poor  creature.  I  am,  unluckily,  one  of 
those  who  have  an  antipathy  to  a  cat,  so  that  I  am  uneasy 
when  in  the  room  with  one;  and  I  own,  I  frequently  suffered 
a  good  deal  from  the  presence  of  this  same  Hodge.  I  recol- 
lect him  one  day  scrambUng  up  Dr.  Johnson's  breast,  appar- 
ently with  much  satisfaction,  while  my  friend  smiling  and 
half-whistling,  rubbed  down  his  back,  and  pulled  him  by  the 
tail;  and  when  I  observed  he  was  a  fine  cat,  saying,  'Why 
yes.  Sir,  but  I  have  had  cats  whom  I  liked  better  than  this;' 
and  then  as  if  perceiving  Hodge  to  be  out  of  countenance, 
adding,  'but  he  is  a  very  fine  cat,  a  very  fine  cat  indeed.' 

This  reminds  me  of  the  ludicrous  account  which  he  gave 
Mr.  Langton,  of  the  despicable  state  of  a  young  Gentleman 
of  good  family.  'Sir,  when  I  heard  of  him  last,  he  was  run- 
ning about  town  shooting  cats.'  And  then  in  a  sort  of  kindly 
reverie,  he  bethought  himself  of  his  own  favourite  cat,  and 
said,  'But  Hodge  shan't  be  shot;  no,  no,  Hodge  shall  not  be 
shot.' 

On  Thursday,  April  10,  I  introduced  to  him,  at  his  house 
in  Bolt-court,  the  Honourable  and  Reverend  William  Stuart, 
son  of  the  Earl  of  Bute;  a  gentleman  truly  worthy  of  being 
known  to  Johnson;  being,  with  all  the  advantages  of  high 
birth,  learning,  travel,  and  elegant  manners,  an  exemplary 
parish  priest  in  every  respect. 

After  some  compliments  on  both  sides,  the  tour  which 
Johnson  and  I  had  made  to  the  Hebrides  was  mentioned. 
Johnson.  '  I  got  an  acquisition  of  more  ideas  by  it  than  by 
any  thing  that  I  remember.  I  saw  quite  a  different  system 
of  life.'  BoswELL.  'You  would  not  like  to  make  the  same 
journey  again?'  Johnson.  'Why  no,  Sir;  not  the  same: 
it  is  a  tale  told.  Gravina,  an  Italian  critick,  observes,  that 
€very  man  desires  to  see  that  of  which  he  has  read;  but  no 
man  desires  to  read  an  account  of  what  he  has  seen:  so 
much  does  description  fall  short  of  reality.  Description  only 
excites  curiosity:    seeing  satisfies  it.     Other  people  may  go 


490  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i783 

and  see  the  Hebrides.'  Boswell.  'I  should  wish  to  go  and 
see  some  country  totally  different  from  what  I  have  been 
used  to;  such  as  Turkey,  where  religion  and  every  thing 
else  are  different.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir;  there  are  two 
objects  of  curiosity, — the  Christian  world,  and  the  Ma- 
hometan world.  All  the  rest  may  be  considered  as  bar- 
barous.' Boswell.  'Pray,  Sir,  is  the  Turkish  Spy  a  gen- 
uine book?'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir.  Mrs.  Manley,  in  her 
Life,  says  that  her  father  wrote  the  first  two  volumes:  and 
in  another  book,  Dunton's  Life  and  Errours,  we  find  that  the 
rest  was  written  by  one  Sault,  at  two  guineas  a  sheet,  under 
the  direction  of  Dr.  Midgeley.' 

About  this  time  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Lucy  Porter,  mention- 
ing his  bad  health,  and  that  he  intended  a  visit  to  Lichfield. 
'It  is,  (says  he,)  with  no  great  expectation  of  amendment 
that  I  make  every  year  a  journey  into  the  country;  but  it 
is  pleasant  to  visit  those  whose  kindness  has  been  often 
experienced.' 

On  April  18,  (being  Good-Friday,)  I  found  him  at  break- 
fast, in  his  usual  manner  upon  that  day,  drinking  tea  with- 
out milk,  and  eating  a  cross-bun  to  prevent  faintness;  we 
went  to  St.  Clement's  church,  as  formerly.  When  we  came 
home  from  church,  he  placed  himself  on  one  of  the  stone- 
seats  at  his  garden-door,  and  I  took  the  other,  and  thus  in 
the  open  air  and  in  a  placid  frame  of  mind,  he  talked  away 
very  easily.  Johnson.  'Were  I  a  country  gentleman,  I 
should  not  be  very  hospitable,  I  should  not  have  crowds 
in  my  house.'  Boswell.  'Sir  Alexander  Dick  tells  me, 
that  he  remembers  having  a  thousand  people  in  a  year  to 
dine  at  his  house:  that  is,  reckoning  each  person  as  one, 
each  time  that  he  dined  there.'  Johnson.  'That,  Sir,  is 
about  three  a  day.'  Boswell.  'How  your  statement 
lessens  the  idea.'  Johnson.  'That,  Sir,  is  the  good  of 
counting.  It  brings  every  thing  to  a  certainty,  which  before 
floated  in  the  mind  indefinitely.' 

Boswell.  'I  wish  to  have  a  good  walled  garden.'  John- 
son. 'I  don't  think  it  would  be  worth  the  expence  to  you. 
We  compute  in  England,  a  park  wall  at  a  thousand  pounds 
a  mile;  now  a  garden-wall  must  cost  at  least  as  much.     You 


1783]  GARDENS  AND  ORCHARDS  491 

intend  your  trees  should  grow  higher  than  a  deer  will  leap. 
Now  let  us  see;  for  a  hundred  pounds  you  could  only  have 
forty-four  square  yards,  which  is  very  little;  for  two  hun- 
dred pounds,  you  may  have  eighty-four  square  yards,  which 
is  very  well.  But  when  will  you  get  the  value  of  two  hundred 
pounds  of  walls,  in  fruit,  in  your  climate?  No,  Sir,  such 
contention  with  Nature  is  not  worth  while.  I  would  plant 
an  orchard,  and  have  plenty  of  such  fruit  as  ripen  well  in 
your  coimtry.  My  friend.  Dr.  Madden,  of  Ireland,  said, 
that  "in  an  orchard  there  should  be  enough  to  eat,  enough 
to  lay  up,  enough  to  be  stolen,  and  enough  to  rot  upon  the 
ground."  Cherries  are  an  early  fruit,  you  may  have  them; 
and  you  may  have  the  early  apples  and  pears.'  Boswell. 
'We  cannot  have  nonpareils.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  you  can  no 
more  have  nonpareils  than  you  can  have  grapes.'  Boswell. 
'We  have  them.  Sir;  but  they  are  very  bad.'  Johnson. 
'  Nay,  Sir,  never  try  to  have  a  thing  merely  to  shew  that  you 
cannot  have  it.  From  ground  that  would  let  for  forty  shil- 
lings you  may  have  a  large  orchard;  and  you  see  it  costs  you 
only  forty  shillings.  Nay,  you  may  graze  the  ground  when 
the  trees  are  grown  up;  you  cannot  while  they  are  young.' 
Boswell.  'Is  not  a  good  garden  a  very  common  thing  in 
England,  Sir?'  Johnson.  'Not  so  common,  Sir,  as  you 
imagine.  In  Lincolnshire  there  is  hardly  an  orchard;  in 
Staffordshire  very  little  fruit.'  Boswell.  'Has  Langton 
no  orchard?'  Johnson.  'No,  Sir.'  Boswell.  'How  so. 
Sir?'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  from  the  general  negligence 
of  the  county.  He  has  it  not,  because  nobody  else  has  it.' 
Boswell.  'A  hot-house  is  a  certain  thing;  I  may  have 
that.'  Johnson.  'A  hot-house  is  pretty  certain;  but  you 
must  first  build  it,  then  you  must  keep  fires  in  it,  and  you 
must  have  a  gardener  to  take  care  of  it.'  Boswell.  'But 
if  I  have  a  gardener  at  any  rate ? — '  Johnson.  'Why,  yes.' 
Boswell.  'I'd  have  it  near  my  house;  there  is  no  need  to 
have  it  in  the  orchard.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  I'd  have  it  near 
my  house.  I  would  plant  a  great  many  currants;  the  fruit 
is  good,  and  they  make  a  pretty  sweetmeat.' 

I  record  this  minute  detail,  which  some  may  think  trifling, 
in  order  to  shew  clearly  how  this  great  man,  whose  mind 


492  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1783 

could  grasp  such  large  and  extensive  subjects,  as  he  has 
shewn  in  his  Uterary  labours,  was  yet  well-informed  in  the 
common  affairs  of  life,  and  loved  to  illustrate  them. 

Talking  of  the  origin  of  language;  Johnson.  'It  must 
have  come  by  inspiration.  A  thousand,  nay,  a  million  of 
children  could  not  invent  a  language.  While  the  organs  are 
pliable,  there  is  not  understanding  enough  to  form  a  language; 
by  the  time  that  there  is  understanding  enough,  the  organs 
are  become  stiff.  We  know  that  after  a  certain  age  we 
cannot  learn  to  pronounce  a  new  language.  No  foreigner, 
who  comes  to  England  when  advanced  in  life,  ever  pro- 
nounces English  tolerably  well;  at  least  such  instances  are 
very  rare.  When  I  maintain  that  language  must  have  come 
by  inspiration,  I  do  not  mean  that  inspiration  is  required 
for  rhetorick,  and  all  the  beauties  of  language;  for  when 
once  man  has  language,  we  can  conceive  that  he  may  gradu- 
ally form  modifications  of  it.  I  mean  only  that  inspiration 
seems  to  me  to  be  necessary  to  give  man  the  faculty  of  speech; 
to  inform  him  that  he  may  have  speech;  which  I  think  he 
could  no  more  find  out  without  inspiration,  than  cows  or 
hogs  would  think  of  such  a  faculty.'  Walker.  'Do  you 
think.  Sir,  that  there  are  any  perfect  synonimes  in  any  lan- 
guage?' Johnson.  'Originally  there  were  not;  but  by 
using  words  negligently,  or  in  poetry,  one  word  comes  to  be 
confounded  with  another.' 

He  talked  of  Dr.  Dodd.  'A  friend  of  mine,  (said  he,) 
came  to  me  and  told  me,  that  a  lady  wished  to  have  Dr. 
Dodd's  picture  in  a  bracelet,  and  asked  me  for  a  motto.  I 
said,  I  could  think  of  no  better  than  Currat  Lex.  I  was  very 
willing  to  have  him  pardoned,  that  is,  to  have  the  sentence 
changed  to  transportation:  but,  when  he  was  once  hanged, 
I  did  not  wish  he  should  be  made  a  saint.' 

Mrs.  Burney,  wife  of  his  friend  Dr.  Bumey,  came  in,  and 
he  seemed  to  be  entertained  with  her  conversation. 

Garrick's  funeral  was  talked  of  as  extravagantly  expen- 
sive. Johnson,  from  his  dislike  to  exaggeration,  would  not 
allow  that  it  was  distinguished  by  any  extraordinary  pomp. 
*  Were  there  not  six  horses  to  each  coach  ? '  said  Mrs.  Bumey. 
Johnson.  'Madam,  there  were  no  more  six  horses  than 
six  phoenixes.' 


1783]       BIRTHS  AND  DEATHS  IN  LONDON        493 

Time  passed  on  in  conversation  till  it  was  too  late  for 
the  service  of  the  church  at  three  o'clock.  I  took  a  walk, 
and  left  him  alone  for  some  time;  then  returned,  and  we 
had  coffee  and  conversation  again  by  ourselves. 

We  went  to  evening  prayers  at  St.  Clement's,  at  seven, 
and  then  parted. 

On  Sunday,  April  20,  being  Easter-day,  after  attending 
solemn  service  at  St.  Paul's,  I  came  to  Dr.  Johnson,  and  found 
Mr.  Lowe,  the  painter,  sitting  with  him.  Mr.  Lowe  men- 
tioned the  great  number  of  new  buildings  of  late  in  London, 
yet  that  Dr.  Johnson  had  observed,  that  the  number  of  in- 
habitants was  not  increased.  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  the  bills 
of  mortality  prove  that  no  more  people  die  now  than  for- 
merly; so  it  is  plain  no  more  live.  The  register  of  births 
proves  nothing,  for  not  one  tenth  of  the  people  of  London 
are  born  there.'  Boswell.  'I  believe.  Sir,  a  great  many  of 
the  children  born  in  London  die  early.'  Johnson.  'Why, 
yes.  Sir.'  Boswell.  'But  those  who  do  live,  are  as  stout 
and  strong  people  as  any:  Dr.  Price  says,  they  must  be 
naturally  stronger  to  get  through.'  Johnson.  'That  is 
system,  Sir.  A  great  traveller  observes,  that  it  is  said  there 
are  no  weak  or  deformed  people  among  the  Indians;  but  he 
with  much  sagacity  assigns  the  reason  of  this,  which  is,  that 
the  hardship  of  their  life  as  hunters  and  fishers  does  not  allow 
weak  or  diseased  children  to  grow  up.  Now  had  I  been  an 
Indian,  I  must  have  died  early;  my  eyes  would  not  have 
served  me  to  get  food.  I  indeed  now  could  fish,  give  me 
English  tackle ;  but  had  I  been  an  Indian  I  must  have  starved, 
or  they  would  have  knocked  me  on  the  head,  when  they  saw 
I  could  do  nothing.'  Boswell.  'Perhaps  they  would  have 
taken  care  of  you :  we  are  told  they  are  fond  of  oratory,  you 
would  have  talked  to  them.'  Johnson.  '  Nay,  Sir,  I  should 
not  have  lived  long  enough  to  be  fit  to  talk;  I  should  have 
been  dead  before  I  was  ten  years  old.  Depend  upon  it,  Sir,, 
a  savage,  when  he  is  hungry,  will  not  carry  about  with  him 
a  looby  of  nine  years  old,  who  cannot  help  himself.  They 
have  no  affection.  Sir.'  Boswell.  '  I  believe  natural  affec- 
tion, of  which  we  hear  so  much,  is  very  small.'  Johnson. 
'Sir,  natural  affection  is  nothing:  but  affection  from  prin- 
ciple and  established  duty  is  sometimes  wonderfully  strong.* 


494  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i783 

Lowe.  'A  hen,  Sir,  will  feed  her  chickens  in  preference  to 
herself.'  Johnson.  'But  we  don't  know  that  the  hen  is 
hungry;  let  the  hen  be  fairly  hungry,  and  I'll  warrant  she'll 
peck  the  corn  herself.  A  cock,  I  believe,  will  feed  hens  in- 
stead of  himself;  but  we  don't  know  that  the  cock  is  hun- 
gry.' BoswELL.  'And  that,  Sir,  is  not  from  affection  but 
gallantry.  But  some  of  the  Indians  have  affection.'  John- 
son. 'Sir,  that  they  help  some  of  their  children  is  plain;  for 
some  of  them  live,  which  they  could  not  do  without  being 
helped.' 

I  dined  with  him;  the  company  were,  Mrs.  Williams,  Mrs. 
Desmoulins,  and  Mr.  Lowe.  He  seemed  not  to  be  well, 
talked  little,  grew  drowsy  soon  after  dinner,  and  retired, 
upon  which  I  went  away. 

Having  next  day  gone  to  Mr.  Burke's  seat  in  the  country, 
from  whence  I  was  recalled  by  an  express,  that  a  near  rela- 
tion of  mine  had  killed  his  antagonist  in  a  duel,  and  was  him- 
self dangerously  wounded,  I  saw  little  of  Dr.  Johnson  till 
Monday,  April  28,  when  I  spent  a  considerable  part  of  the 
day  with  him,  and  introduced  the  subject,  which  then  chiefly 
occupied  my  mind.  Johnson.  'I  do  not  see.  Sir,  that 
fighting  is  absolutely  forbidden  in  Scripture;  I  see  revenge 
forbidden,  but  not  self-defence.'  Boswell.  'The  Quakers 
say  it  is;  "Unto  him  that  smiteth  thee  on  one  cheek,  offer 
him  also  the  other."'  Johnson.  'But  stay,  Sir;  the  text  is 
meant  only  to  have  the  effect  of  moderating  passion;  it  is 
plain  that  we  are  not  to  take  it  in  a  literal  sense.  We  see 
this  from  the  context,  where  there  are  other  recommenda- 
tions, which  I  warrant  you  the  Quaker  will  not  take  literally; 
as,  for  instance,  "From  him  that  would  borrow  of  thee,  turn 
thou  not  away."  Let  a  man  whose  credit  is  bad,  come  to  a 
Quaker,  and  say,  "Well,  Sir,  lend  me  a  hundred  pounds;" 
he'll  find  him  as  unwilling  as  any  other  man.  No,  Sir,  a 
man  may  shoot  the  man  who  invades  his  character,  as  he 
may  shoot  him  who  attempts  to  break  into  his  house.^   So  in 

'  I  think  it  necessary  to  caution  my  readers  against  concluding  that 
In  this  or  any  other  conversation  of  Dr.  Johnson,  they  have  his  serious 
and  deliberate  opinion  on  the  subject  of  duelling.  In  my  Journal  of 
a  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,  3rd  edit.  p.  386  {p.  366,  Oct.  24],  It  appears  that 
he  made  this  frank  confession: — 'Nobody  at  times,  talks  more  laxly 


1783]  RELIGION  496 

1745,  my  friend,  Tom  Gumming,  the  Quaker,  said,  he  would 
not  fight,  but  he  would  drive  an  ammunition  cart;  and  we 
know  that  the  Quakers  have  sent  flannel  waistcoats  to  our 
soldiers,  to  enable  them  to  fight  better.'  Boswell.  'When 
a  man  is  the  aggressor,  and  by  ill-usage  forces  on  a  duel  in 
which  he  is  killed,  have  we  not  little  ground  to  hope  that  he 
is  gone  into  a  state  of  happiness?'  Johnson.  'Sir,  we  are 
not  to  judge  determinately  of  the  state  in  which  a  man  leaves 
this  life.  He  may  in  a  moment  have  repented  effectually, 
and  it  is  possible  may  have  been  accepted  by  God.' 

Upon  being  told  that  old  Mr.  Sheridan,  indignant  at  the 
neglect  of  his  oratorical  plans,  had  threatened  to  go  to 
America;  Johnson.  'I  hope  he  will  go  to  America.'  Bos- 
well. 'The  Americans  don't  want  oratory.'  Johnson. 
'But  we  can  want  Sheridan.' 

On  Monday,  April  29, 1  found  him  at  home  in  the  forenoon, 
and  Mr.  Seward  with  him.  Horace  having  been  mentioned; 
BoswELL.  'There  is  a  great  deal  of  thinking  in  his  works. 
One  finds  there  almost  every  thing  but  religion.'  Seward. 
*He  speaks  of  his  returning  to  it,  in  his  Ode  Parous  Deorum 
cultor  et  infrequens.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  he  was  not  in  earnest: 
this  was  merely  poetical.'  Boswell.  'There  are,  I  am 
afraid,  many  people  who  have  no  religion  at  all.'  Seward. 
'And  sensible  people  too.'  Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  not  sensi- 
ble in  that  respect.  There  must  be  either  a  natural  or  a 
moral  stupidity,  if  one  lives  in  a  total  neglect  of  so  very  im- 
portant a  concern.'  Seward.  'I  wonder  that  there  should 
be  people  without  religion.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  you  need  not 
wonder  at  this,  when  you  consider  how  large  a  proportion  of 
almost  every  man's  life  is  passed  without  thinking  of  it. 
I  myself  was  for  some  years  totally  regardless  of  religion.  It 
had  dropped  out  of  my  mind.  It  was  at  an  early  part  of  my 
life.  Sickness  brought  it  back,  and  I  hope  I  have  never  lost 
it  since.'  Boswell.  'My  dear  Sir,  what  a  man  must  you 
have  been  without  religion !  Why  you  must  have  gone  on 
drinking,  and  swearing,   and — '     Johnson   (with  a  smile,) 

than  I  do:'  and,  ib.,  p.  231  [Sept.  19,  1773],  'He  fairly  owned  he  could 
not  explain  the  rationality  of  duelling.'  We  may,  therefore,  infer,  that 
he  could  not  think  that  justifiable,  which  seems  so  inconsistent  with 
the  spirit  of  the  Gospel. — Boswell. 


496  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [nss- 

'I  drank  enough  and  swore  enough,  to  be  sure.'  Seward. 
'One  should  think  that  sickness  and  the  view  of  death  would 
make  more  men  religious.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  they  do  not 
know  how  to  go  about  it:  they  have  not  the  first  notion. 
A  man  who  has  never  had  religion  before,  no  more  grows 
religious  when  he  is  sick,  than  a  man  who  has  never  learnt 
figures  can  count  when  he  has  need  of  calculation.' 

I  mentioned  Dr.  Johnson's  excellent  distinction  between 
liberty  of  conscience  and  liberty  of  teaching.  Johnson. 
'Consider,  Sir;  if  you  have  children  whom  you  wish  to  edu- 
cate in  the  principles  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  there 
comes  a  Quaker  who  tries  to  pervert  them  to  his  principles, 
you  would  drive  away  the  Quaker.  You  would  not  trust  to 
the  predomination  of  right,  which  you  believe  is  in  your 
opinions;  you  would  keep  wrong  out  of  their  heads.  Now 
the  vulgar  are-  the  children  of  the  State.  If  any  one  attempts 
to  teach  them  doctrines  contrary  to  what  the  State  approves, 
the  magistrate  may  and  ought  to  restrain  him.'  Seward. 
'Would  you  restrain  private  conversation.  Sir?'  Johnson. 
'Why,  Sir,  it  is  difficult  to  say  where  private  conversation 
begins,  and  where  it  ends.  If  we  three  should  discuss  even 
the  great  question  concerning  the  existence  of  a  Supreme 
Being  by  ourselves,  we  should  not  be  restrained;  for  that 
would  be  to  put  an  end  to  all  improvement.  But  if  we 
should  discuss  it  in  the  presence  of  ten  boarding-school  girls, 
and  as  many  boys,  I  think  the  magistrate  would  do  well  to 
put  us  in  the  stocks,  to  finish  the  debate  there.' 

'How  false  (said  he,)  is  all  this,  to  say  that  in  ancient 
times  learning  was  not  a  disgrace  to  a  Peer  as  it  is  now.  In 
ancient  times  a  Peer  was  as  ignorant  as  any  one  else.  He 
would  have  been  angry  to  have  it  thought  he  could  write 
his  name.  Men  in  ancient  times  dared  to  stand  forth  with 
a  degree  of  ignorance  with  which  nobody  would  dare  now 
to  stand  forth.  I  am  always  angry  when  I  hear  ancient 
times  praised  at  the  expence  of  modern  times.  There  is 
now  a  great  deal  more  learning  in  the  world  than  there  was 
formerly;  for  it  is  universally  diffu.sed.  You  have,  perhaps, 
no  man  who  knows  as  much  Greek  and  Latin  as  Bentley; 
no  man  who  knows  as  much  mathematicks  as  Newton:   but 


1783]   '       THE  DIFFUSION  OF  LEARNING  497 

you  have  many  more  men  who  know  Greek  and  Latin,  and 
who  know  mathematicks.' 

On  Thursday,  May  1,  I  visited  him  in  the  evening  along 
with  young  Mr.  Burke.  He  said,  'It  is  strange  that  there 
should  be  so  little  reading  in  the  world,  and  so  much  writing. 
People  in  general  do  not  willingly  read,  if  they  can  have  any 
thing  else  to  amuse  them.  There  must  be  an  external  im- 
pulse; emulation,  or  vanity,  or  avarice.  The  progress  which 
the  understanding  makes  through  a  book,  has  more  pain  than 
pleasure  in  it.  Language  is  scanty,  and  inadequate  to  ex- 
press the  nice  gradations  and  mixtures  of  our  feelings.  No 
man  reads  a  book  of  science  from  pure  inclination.  The 
books  that  we  do  read  with  pleasure  are  Ught  compositions, 
which  contain  a  quick  succession  of  events.  However,  I  have 
this  year  read  all  Virgil  through.  I  read  a  book  of  the  ^neid 
every  night,  so  it  was  done  in  twelve  nights,  and  I  had  great 
delight  in  it.  The  Georgicks  did  not  give  me  so  much  plea- 
sure, except  the  fourth  book.  The  Eclogxies  I  have  almost  all 
by  heart.  I  do  not  think  the  story  of  the  ^Eneid  interesting. 
I  like  the  story  of  the  Odyssey  much  better;  and  this  not  on 
account  of  the  wonderful  things  which  it  contains;  for  there 
are  wonderful  things  enough  in  the  Mneid; — the  ships  of 
the  Trojans  turned  to  sea-nymphs, — the  tree  at  Polydorus's 
tomb  dropping  blood.  The  story  of  the  Odyssey  is  interest- 
ing, as  a  great  part  of  it  is  domestick.  It  has  been  said,  there 
is  pleasure  in  writing,  particularly  in  writing  verses.  I  aUow 
you  may  have  pleasure  from  writing,  after  it  is  over,  if  you 
have  written  well;  but  you  don't  go  willingly  to  it  again.  I 
know  when  I  have  been  writing  verses,  I  have  run  my  finger 
down  the  margin,  to  see  how  many  I  had  made,  and  how  few 
I  had  to  make.' 

He  seemed  to  be  in  a  very  placid  humour,  and  although 
I  have  no  note  of  the  particulars  of  young  Mr,  Bm-ke's  con- 
versation, it  is  but  justice  to  mention  in  general,  that  it  was 
such  that  Dr.  Johnson  said  to  me  afterwards,  'He  did  very 
well  indeed;  I  have  a  mind  to  tell  his  father.' 

I  have  no  minute  of  any  interview  with  Johnson  till  Thurs- 
day, May  15,  when  I  find  what  follows: — Boswell.  'I  wish 
much  to  be  in  Parliament,  Sir.'    Johnson.     'Why,  Sir,  un- 


498  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  Ii783 

less  you  come  resolved  to  support  any  administration,  you 
would  be  the  worse  for  being  in  Parliament,  because  you 
would  be  obliged  to  live  more  expensively.'  Boswell. 
'  Perhaps,  Sir,  I  should  be  the  less  happy  for  being  in  Parlia- 
ment. I  never  would  sell  my  vote,  and  I  should  be  vexed 
if  things  went  wrong.'  Johnson.  'That's  cant.  Sir.  It 
would  not  vex  you  more  in  the  house,  than  in  the  gallery: 
publick  affairs  vex  no  man.'  Boswell.  'Have  not  they 
vexed  yourself  a  little.  Sir  ?  Have  not  you  been  vexed  by  all 
the  turbulence  of  this  reign,  and  by  that  absurd  vote  of  the 
House  of  Conunons,  "That  the  influence  of  the  Crown  has 
increased,  is  increasing,  and  ought  to  be  diminished?"* 
Johnson.  'Sir,  I  have  never  slept  an  hour  less,  nor  eat  an 
ounce  less  meat.  I  would  have  knocked  the  factious  dogs  on 
the  head,  to  be  sure;  but  I  was  not  vexed.'  Boswell.  'I 
declare,  Sir,  upon  my  honour,  I  did  imagine  I  was  vexed, 
and  took  a  pride  in  it;  but  it  was,  perhaps,  cant;  for  I  own 
I  neither  ate  less,  nor  slept  less.'  Johnson.  'My  dear 
friend,  clear  your  mind  of  cant.  You  may  talk  as  other 
people  do:  you  may  say  to  a  man,  "Sir,  I  am  your  most 
humble  servant."  You  are  not  his  most  humble  servant. 
You  may  say,  "These  are  bad  times;  it  is  a  melancholy 
thing  to  be  reserved  to  such  times."  You  don't  mind  the 
times.  You  tell  a  man,  "  I  am  sorry  you  had  such  bad  weather 
the  last  day  of  your  journey,  and  were  so  much  wet."  You 
don't  care  six-pence  whether  he  is  wet  or  dry.  You  may 
talk  in  this  manner;  it  is  a  mode  of  talking  in  Society:  but 
don't  think  foolishly.' 

Here  he  discovered  a  notion  common  enough  in  persons 
not  miich  accustomed  to  entertain  company,  that  there  must 
be  a  degree  of  elaborate  attention,  otherwise  company  will 
think  themselves  neglected;  and  such  attention  is  no  doubt 
very  fatiguing.  He  proceeded:  'I  would  not,  however,  be 
a  stranger  in  my  own  county;  I  would  visit  my  neighbours, 
and  receive  their  visits;  but  I  would  not  be  in  haste  tore- 
turn  visits.  If  a  gentleman  comes  to  see  me,  I  tell  him  he 
does  me  a  great  deal  of  honour.  I  do  not  go  to  see  him  per- 
haps for  ten  weeks;  then  we  are  very  complaisant  to  each 
other.  No,  Sir,  you  will  have  much  more  influence  by  giving 
or  lending  money  where  it  is  wanted,  than  by  hospitality.' 


1783]  MISS  BURNEY  499 

On  Saturday,  May  17,  I  saw  him  for  a  short  time.  Hav- 
ing mentioned  that  I  had  that  morning  been  with  old  Mr. 
Sheridan,  he  remembered  their  former  intimacy  with  a  cordial 
warmth,  and  said  to  me,  'Tell  Mr.  Sheridan,  I  shall  be  glad 
to  see  him,  and  shake  hands  with  him.'  Boswell.  'It  is  to 
me  very  wonderful  that  resentment  should  be  kept  up  so 
long.'  Johnson.  '  Why ,  Sir,  it  is  not  altogether  resentment 
that  he  does  not  visit  me ;  it  is  partly  falling  out  of  the  habit, 
— partly  disgust,  as  one  has  at  a  drug  that  has  made  him 
sick.     Besides,  he  knows  that  I  laugh  at  his  oratory.' 

Another  day  I  spoke  of  one  of  our  friends,  of  whom  he,  as 
well  as  I,  had  a  very  high  opinion.  He  expatiated  in  his 
praise;  but  added,  'Sir,  he  is  a  cursed  Whig,  a  bottomless 
Whig,  as  they  all  are  now.' 

On  Monday,  May  26,  I  found  him  at  tea,  and  the  cele- 
brated Miss  Burney,  the  authour  of  Evelina  and  Cecilia,  with 
him.  I  asked  if  there  would  be  any  speakers  in  Parliament, 
if  there  were  no  places  to  be  obtained.  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir. 
Why  do  you  speak  here?  Either  to  instruct  and  entertain, 
which  is  a  benevolent  motive;  or  for  distinction,  which  is  a 
selfish  motive.'  I  mentioned  Cecilia.  Johnson,  (with  an 
air  of  animated  satisfaction,)  '  Sir,  if  you  talk  of  Cecilia,  talk 
on.' 

We  talked  of  Mr.  Barry's  exhibition  of  his  pictures.  John- 
son. 'Whatever  the  hand  may  have  done,  the  mind  has 
done  its  part.  There  is  a  grasp  of  mind  there  which  you 
find  nowhere  else.' 

I  asked  whether  a  man  naturally  virtuous,  or  one  who  has 
overcome  wicked  inclinations,  is  the  best.  Johnson.  'Sir, 
to  you,  the  man  who  has  overcome  wicked  inclinations  is  not 
the  best.  He  has  more  merit  to  himself:  I  would  rather 
trust  my  money  to  a  man  who  has  no  hands,  and  so  a  physi- 
cal impossibility  to  steal,  than  to  a  man  of  the  most  honest 
principles.  There  is  a  witty  satirical  story  of  Foote.  He 
had  a  small  bust  of  Garrick  placed  upon  his  bureau.  "You 
may  be  surprized  (said  he,)  that  I  allow  him  to  be  so  near 
my  gold; — ^but  you  will  observe  he  has  no  hands."' 

On  Friday,  May  29,  being  to  set  out  for  Scotland  next 
morning,  I  passed  a  part  of  the  day  with  him  in  more  than 
usual  earnestness;    as  his  health  was  in  a  more  precarious 


500  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1783 

state  than  at  any  time  when  I  had  parted  from  him.  He, 
however,  was  quick  and  Uvely,  and  critical  as  usual.  I  men- 
tioned one  who  was  a  very  learned  man.  Johnson.  'Yes, 
Sir,  he  has  a  great  deal  of  learning;  but  it  never  lies  straight. 
There  is  never  one  idea  by  the  side  of  another;  'tis  all  en- 
tangled: and  then  he  drives  it  so  aukwardly  upon  conver- 
sation.' 

He  said,  'Get  as  much  force  of  mind  as  you  can.  Live 
within  your  income.  Always  have  something  saved  at  the 
end  of  the  year.  Let  your  imports  be  more  than  your  ex- 
ports, and  you'll  never  go  far  wrong.' 

I  assured  him,  that  in  the  extensive  and  various  range  of 
his  acquaintance  there  never  had  been  any  one  who  had 
a  more  sincere  respect  and  affection  for  him  than  I  had.  He 
said,  '  I  believe  it.  Sir.  Were  I  in  distress,  there  is  no  man  to 
whom  I  should  sooner  come  than  to  you.  I  should  like  to 
come  and  have  a  cottage  in  your  park,  toddle  about,  live 
mostly  on  milk,  and  be  taken  care  of  by  Mrs.  Boswell.  She 
and  I  are  good  friends  now;  are  we  not?' 

He  embraced  me,  and  gave  me  his  blessing,  as  usual  when 
I  was  leaving  him  for  any  length  of  time.  I  walked  from  his 
door  to-day,  with  a  fearful  apprehension  of  what  might  hap- 
pen before  I  returned. 

My  anxious  apprehensions  at  parting  with  him  this  year, 
proved  to  be  but  too  well  founded;  for  not  long  afterwards 
he  had  a  dreadful  stroke  of  the  palsy,  of  which  there  are  very 
full  and  accurate  accounts  in  letters  written  by  himself,  to 
shew  with  what  composure  of  mind,  and  resignation  to  the 
Divine  Will,  his  steady  piety  enabled  him  to  behave. 

*To  Mr.  Edmund  Allen. 

*Dear  Sir, — It  has  pleased  God,  this  morning,  to  deprive 
me  of  the  powers  of  speech;  and  as  I  do  not  know  but  that 
it  may  be  his  further  good  pleasure  to  deprive  me  soon  of  my 
senses,  I  request  you  will  on  the  receipt  of  this  note,  come  to 
me,  and  act  for  me,  as  the  exigencies  of  my  case  may  require. 
I  am,  sincerely  yours, 

'June  17,  1783.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 


1783]  HIS  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  SEIZURE       501 

Two  days  after  he  wrote  thus  to  Mrs.  Thrale: — 

'On  Monday,  the  16th,  I  sat  for  my  picture,  and  walked 
a  considerable  way  with  little  inconvenience.  In  the  after- 
noon and  evening  I  felt  myself  light  and  easy,  and  began  to 
plan  schemes  of  life.  Thus  I  went  to  bed,  and  in  a  short 
time  waked  and  sat  up,  as  has  been  long  my  custom,  whea 
I  felt  a  confusion  and  indistinctness  in  my  head,  which  lasted, 
I  suppose,  about  half  a  minute.  I  was  alarmed,  and  prayed 
God,  that  however  he  might  afflict  my  body,  he  would  spare 
my  understanding.  This  prayer,  that  I  might  try  the  in- 
tegrity of  my  faculties,  I  made  in  Latin  verse.  The  lines 
were  not  very  good,  but  I  knew  them  not  to  be  very  good: 
I  made  them  easily,  and  concluded  myself  to  be  unimpaired 
in  my  faculties.. 

'Soon  after  I  perceived  that  I  had  suffered  a  paralytick 
stroke,  and  that  my  speech  was  taken  from  me.  I  had  no 
pain,  and  so  little  dejection  in  this  dreadful  state,  that  I  won- 
dered at  my  own  apathy,  and  considered  that  perhaps  death 
itself,  when  it  should  come,  would  excite  less  horrour  than 
seems  now  to  attend  it. 

'In  order  to  rouse  the  vocal  organs,  I  took  two  drams. 
Wine  has  been  celebrated  for  the  production  of  eloquence. 
I  put  myself  into  violent  motion,  and  I  think  repeated  it; 
but  all  was  vain.  I  then  went  to  bed,  and  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  I  think  slept.  When  I  saw  light,  it  was  time  to  con- 
trive what  I  should  do.  Though  God  stopped  my  speech,  he 
left  me  my  hand;  I  enjoyed  a  mercy  which  was  not  granted 
to  my  dear  friend  Lawrence,  who  now  perhaps  overlooks  me 
as  I  am  writing,  and  rejoices  that  I  have  what  he  wanted. 
My  first  note  was  necessarily  to  my  servant,  who  came  in 
talking,  and  could  not  immediately  comprehend  why  he 
should  read  what  I  put  into  his  hands. 

'I  then  wrote  a  card  to  Mr.  Allen,  that  I  might  have  a  dis-- 
creet  friend  at  hand,  to  act  as  occasion  should  require.  In 
penning  this  note,  I  had  some  difficulty;  my  hand,  I  knew 
not  how  nor  why,  made  wrong  letters.  I  then  wrote  to  Dr. 
Taylor  to  come  to  me,  and  bring  Dr.  Heberden;  and  I  sent 
to  Dr.  Brocklesby,  who  is  my  neighbour.  My  physicians, 
are  very  friendly,  and  give  me  great  hopes;   but  you  may 


502  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i783 

imagine  my  situation.  I  have  so  far  recovered  my  vocal 
powers,  as  to  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer  with  no  very  imper- 
fect articulation.  My  memory,  I  hope,  yet  remains  as  it 
was;  but  such  an  attack  produces  sohcitude  for  the  safety 
of  every  faculty.' 

'To  Mr.  Thomas  Davies. 

'Dear  Sir, — I  have  had,  indeed,  a  very  heavy  blow;  but 
God,  who  yet  spares  my  life,  I  humbly  hope  wiir  spare  my 
understanding,  and  restore  my  speech.  As  I  am  not  at  all 
helpless,  I  want  no  particular  assistance,  but  am  strongly 
affected  by  Mrs.  Davies's  tenderness;  and  when  I  think  she 
can  do  me  good,  shall  be  very  glad  to  call  upon  her.  I  had 
ordered  friends  to  be  shut  out;  but  one  or  two  have  found 
the  way  in;  and  if  you  come  you  shall  be  admitted:  for 
I  know  not  whom  I  can  see,  that  will  bring  more  amusement 
on  his  tongue,  or  more  kindness  in  his  heart.     I  am,  &c. 

'June  18,  1783.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  preserve  such  a  memorial  of 
Johnson's  regard  for  Mr.  Davies,  to  whom  I  was  indebted  for 
my  introduction  to  him.  He  indeed  loved  Davies  cordially, 
of  which  I  shall  give  the  following  little  evidence.  One  day 
when  he  had  treated  him  with  too  much  asperity,  Tom,  who 
was  not  without  pride  and  spirit,  went  off  in  a  passion;  but 
he  had  hardly  reached  home  when  Frank,  who  had  been 
:sent  after  him,  delivered  this  note: — 'Come,  come,  dear 
Davies,  I  am  always  sorry  when  we  quarrel;  send  me  word 
that  we  are  friends.' 

>  Such  was  the  general  vigour  of  his  constitution,  that  he 
recovered  from  this  alarming  and  severe  attack  with  won- 
•derful  quickness;  so  that  in  July  he  was  able  to  make  a  visit 
to  Mr.  Langton  at  Rochester,  where  he  passed  about  a  fort- 
night, and  made  little  excursions  as  easily  as  at  any  time  of 
his  life.  In  August  he  went  as  far  as  the  neighbourhood  of 
Salisbury,  to  Heale,  the  seat  of  William  Bowles,  Esq.,  a  gen- 
tleman whom  I  have  heard  him  praise  for  exemplary  relig- 
ious order  in  his  family.     In  his  diary  I  find  a  short  but 


1783]  DEATH  OF  MRS.   WILLIAMS  503 

honourable  mention  of  this  visit: — 'August  28,  I  came  to 
Heale  without  fatigue.  30,  I  am  entertained  quite  to  my 
mind.' 

While  he  was  here  he  had  a  letter  from  Dr.  Brocklesby, 
acquainting  him  of  the  death  of  Mrs.  Williams,  which  af- 
fected him  a  good  deal.  Though  for  several  years  her  temper 
had  not  been  complacent,  she  had  valuable  qualities,  and 
her  departure  left  a  blank  in  his  house.  Upon  this  occasion 
he,  according  to  his  habitual  course  of  piety,  composed  a 
prayer. 

I  shall  here  insert  a  few  particulars  concerning  him,  with 
which  I  have  been  favoured  by  one  of  his  friends. 

'He  spoke  often  in  praise  of  French  literature.  "The 
French  are  excellent  in  this,  (he  would  say,)  they  have  a  book 
on  every  subject."  From  what  he  had  seen  of  them  he  de- 
nied them  the  praise  of  sup)eriour  politeness,  and  mentioned, 
with  very  visible  disgust,  the  custom  they  have  of  spitting 
on  the  floors  of  their  apartments.  "This,  (said  the  Doctor), 
is  as  gross  a  thing  as  can  well  be  done;  and  one  wonders  how 
any  man,  or  set  of  men,  can  persist  in  so  offensive  a  practice 
for  a  whole  day  together;  one  should  expect  that  the  first 
effort  towards  civilization  would  remove  it  even  among 
savages.'" 

'Chymistry  was  always  an  interesting  pursuit  with  Dr. 
Johnson.  Whilst  he  was  in  Wiltshire,  he  attended  some  ex- 
periments that  were  made  by  a  physician  at  Salisbury,  on 
the  new  kinds  of  air.  In  the  course  of  the  experiments  fre- 
quent mention  being  made  of  Dr.  Priestley,  Dr.  Johnson  knit 
his  brows,  and  in  a  stern  manner  inquired,  "Why  do  we  hear 
so  much  of  Dr.  Priestley? "  He  was  very  properly  answered, 
"Sir,  because  we  are  indebted  to  him  for  these  important 
discoveries."  On  this  Dr.  Johnson  appeared  well  content; 
and  replied,  "Well,  well,  I  believe  we  are;  and  let  every  man 
have  the  honour  he  has  merited."' 

'A  friend  was  one  day,  about  two  years  before  his  death, 
struck  with  some  instance  of  Dr.  Johnson's  great  candour. 
"Well,  Sir,  (said  he,)  I  will  always  say  that  you  are  a  very 
candid  man."  "Will  you,  (replied  the  Doctor,)  I  doubt  then 
you  will  be  very  singular.     But,  indeed.  Sir,  (continued  he,) 


504  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  ii783 

I  look  upon  myself  to  be  a  man  very  much  misunderstood. 
I  am  not  an  uncandid,  nor  am  I  a  severe  man.  I  sometimes 
say  more  than  I  mean,  in  jest;  and  people  are  apt  to  believe 
me  serious:  however,  I  am  more  candid  than  I  was  when 
I  was  younger.  As  I  know  more  of  mankind  I  expect  less  of 
them,  and  am  ready  now  to  call  a  man  a  good  man,  upon 
easier  terms  than  I  was  formerly.'" 

On  his  return  from  Heale  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Burney: — 

'I  came  home  on  the  18th  at  noon  to  a  very  disconsolate 
house.  You  and  I  have  lost  our  friends;  but  you  have 
more  friends  at  home.  My  domestick  companion  is  taken 
from  me.  She  is  much  missed,  for  her  acquisitions  were 
many,  and  her  curiosity  universal;  so  that  she  partook  of 
every  conversation.  I  am  not  well  enough  to  go  much  out; 
and  to  sit,  and  eat,  or  fast  alone,  is  very  wearisome.  I 
always  mean  to  send  my  compliments  to  all  the  ladies.' 

His  fortitude  and  patience  met  with  severe  trials  during 
this  year.  The  stroke  of  the  palsy  has  been  related  circum- 
stantially; but  he  was  also  afflicted  with  the  gout,  and  was 
besides  troubled  with  a  complaint  which  not  only  was  at- 
tended with  immediate  inconvenience,  but  threatened  him 
with  a  chirurgical  operation,  from  which  most  men  would 
shrink.  The  complaint  was  a  sarcocele,  which  Johnson  bore 
with  uncommon  firmness,  and  was  not  at  all  frightened  while 
he  looked  forward  to  amputation.  He  was  attended  by 
Mr.  Pott  and  Mr.  Cruikshank. 

Happily  the  complaint  abated  without  his  being  put  to  the 
torture  of  amputation.  But  we  must  surely  admire  the 
manly  resolution  which  he  discovered  while  it  hung  over  him. 

He  this  autumn  received  a  visit  from  the  celebrated  Mrs. 
Siddons.  He  gives  this  account  of  it  in  one  of  his  letters  to 
Mrs.  Thrale: — 

'Mrs.  Siddons,  in  her  visit  to  me,  behaved  with  great 
modesty  and  propriety,  and  left  nothing  behind  her  to  be 
censured  or  despised.  Neither  praise  nor  money,  the  two 
powerful  corrupters  of  mankind,  seem  to  have  depraved  her. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  see  her  again.  Her  brother  Kemble  calls 
on  me,  and  pleases  me  very  well.  Mrs.  Siddons  and  I  talked 
of  plays;    and  she  told  me  her  intention  of  exhibiting  this 


1783]  MRS.  SIDDONS  505 

winter  the  characters  of  Constance,  Catharine,  and  Isabella, 
in  Shakspeare.' 

Mr.  Kemble  has  favoured  me  with  the  following  minute  of 
what  passed  at  this  visit: — 

'When  Mrs.  Siddons  came  into  the  room,  there  happened 
to  be  no  chair  ready  for  her,  which  he  observing,  said  with 
a  smile,  "Madam,  you  who  so  often  occasion  a  want  of  seats 
to  other  people,  will  the  more  easily  excuse  the  want  of  one 
yourself." 

'  Having  placed  himself  by  her,  he  with  great  good-humour 
entered  upon  a  consideration  of  the  English  drama;  and, 
among  other  inquiries,  particularly  asked  her  which  of  Shak- 
speare's  characters  she  was  most  pleased  with.  Upon  her 
answering  that  she  thought  the  character  of  Queen  Cath- 
arine, in  Henry  the  Eighth,  the  most  natural: — "I  think  so 
too.  Madam,  (said  he;)  and  whenever  you  perform  it,  I  will 
once  more  hobble  out  to  the  theatre  myself."  Mrs.  Siddons 
promised  she  would  do  herself  the  honour  of  acting  his  fa- 
vourite part  for  him;  but  many  circumstances  happened  to 
prevent  the  representation  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth  during 
the  Doctor's  life. 

'  In  the  course  of  the  evening  he  thus  gave  his  opinion  upon 
the  merits  of  some  of  the  principal  performers  whom  he  re- 
membered to  have  seen  upon  the  stage.  "  Mrs.  Porter  in  the 
vehemence  of  rage,  and  Mrs.  Clive  in  the  sprightliness  of 
humour,  I  have  never  seen  equalled.  What  Clive  did  best, 
she  did  better  than  Garrick;  but  could  not  do  half  so  many 
things  well;  she  was  a  better  romp  than  any  I  ever  saw  in 
nature.  Pritchard,  in  common  life,  was  a  vulgar  ideot;  she 
would  talk  of  her  gownd:  but,  when  she  appeared  upon  the 
stage,  seemed  to  be  inspired  by  gentiUty  and  understanding. 
I  once  talked  with  CoUey  Cibber,  and  thought  him  ignorant 
of  the  principles  of  his  art.  Garrick,  Madam,  was  no  de- 
claimer;  there  was  not  one  of  his  own  scene-shifters  who 
could  not  have  spoken  To  he,  or  not  to  he,  better  than  he  did; 
yet  he  was  the  only  actor  I  ever  saw,  whom  I  could  call  a 
master  both  in  tragedy  and  comedy;  though  I  liked  him 
best  in  comedy.  A  true  conception  of  character,  and  natural 
expression  of  it,  were  his  distinguished  excellencies."    Having 


506  LIFE  OF  DR.   JOHNSON  [i783 

expatiated,  with  his  usual  force  and  eloquence,  on  Mr. 
Garrick's  extraordinary  eminence  as  an  actor,  he  concluded 
with  this  compliment  to  his  social  talents:  "And  after  all, 
Madam,  I  thought  him  less  to  be  envied  on  the  stage  than 
at  the  head  of  a  table.'" 

Johnson,  indeed,  had  thought  more  upon  the  subject  of 
acting  than  might  be  generally  supposed.  Talking  of  it  one 
day  to  Mr.  Kemble,  he  said,  'Are  you,  Sir,  one  of  those  en- 
thusiasts who  believe  yourself  transformed  into  the  very 
character  you  represent?'  Upon  Mr.  Kemble's  answering 
that  he  had  never  felt  so  strong  a  persuasion  himself;  'To  be 
sure  not,  Sir,  (said  Johnson;)  the  thing  is  impossible.  And 
if  Garrick  really  believed  himself  to  be  that  monster,  Richard 
the  Third,  he  deserved  to  be  hanged  every  time  he  per- 
formed it.' 

I  find  in  this,  as  in  former  years,  notices  of  his  kind  atten- 
tion to  Mrs.  Gardiner,  who,  though  in  the  humble  station  of 
a  tallow-chandler  upon  Snow-hill,  was  a  woman  of  excellent 
good  sense,  pious,  and  charitable.  She  told  me,  she  had 
been  introduced  to  him  by  Mrs.  Masters,  the  poetess,  whose 
volumes  he  revised,  and,  it  is  said,  illuminated  here  and  there 
with  a  ray  of  his  own  genius.  Mrs.  Gardiner  was  very  zeal- 
ous for  the  support  of  the  Ladies'  charity-school,  in  the 
parish  of  St.  Sepulchre.  It  is  confined  to  females;  and,  I 
am  told,  it  afforded  a  hint  for  the  story  of  Betty  Broom  in 
The  Idler. 

The  late  ingenious  Mr.  Mickle,  some  time  before  his  death, 
wrote  me  a  letter  concerning  Dr.  Johnson,  in  which  he  men- 
tions,— '  I  was  upwards  of  twelve  years  acquainted  with  him, 
was  frequently  in  his  company,  always  talked  with  ease  to 
him,  and  can  truly  say,  that  I  never  received  from  him  one 
rough  word.' 

Mr.  Mickle  reminds  me  in  this  letter  of  a  conversation,  at 
dinner  one  day  at  Mr.  Hoole's  with  Dr.  Johnson,  when  Mr. 
Nicol  the  King's  bookseller  and  I  attempted  to  controvert 
the  maxim,  'better  that  ten  guilty  should  escape,  than  one 
innocent  person  suffer;'  and  were  answered  by  Dr.  Johnson 
with  great  power  of  reasoning  and  eloquence.  I  am  very 
sorry  that  I  have  no  record  of  that  day:  but  I  well  recollect 


1783]  THE  ESSEX-HEAD  CLUB  507 

my  illustrious  friend's  having  ably  shewn,  that  unless  civil 
institutions  insure  protection  to  the  innocent,  all  the  confi- 
dence which  mankind  should  have  in  them  would  be  lost. 

Notwithstanding  the  complication  of  disorders  under 
which  Johnson  now  laboured,  he  did  not  resign  himself  to 
despondency  and  discontent,  but  with  wisdom  and  spirit 
endeavoured  to  console  and  amuse  his  mind  with  as  many 
innocent  enjoyments  as  he  could  procure.  Sir  John  Haw- 
kins has  mentioned  the  cordiality  with  which  he  insisted 
that  such  of  the  members  of  the  old  club  in  Ivy-lane  as  sur- 
vived, should  meet  again  and  dine  together,  which  they  did, 
twice  at  a  tavern  and  once  at  his  house:  and  in  order  to 
insure  himself  society  in  the  evening  for  three  days  in  the 
week,  he  instituted  a  club  at  the  Essex  Head,  in  Essex-street, 
then  kept  by  Samuel  Greaves,  an  old  servant  of  Mr.  Thrale's. 

'To  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

'Dear  Sir, — It  is  inconvenient  to  me  to  come  out,  I 
should  else  have  waited  on  you  with  an  account  of  a  little 
evening  Club  which  we  are  establishing  in  Essex-street,  in 
the  Strand,  and  of  which  you  are  desired  to  be  one.  It  will 
be  held  at  the  Essex  Head,  now  kept  by  an  old  servant  of 
Thrale's.  The  company  is  numerous,  and,  as  you  will  see 
by  the  list,  miscellaneous.  The  terms  are  lax,  and  the  ex- 
pences  light.  Mr.  Barry  was  adopted  by  Dr.  Brocklesby, 
who  joined  with  me  in  forming  the  plan.  We  meet  thrice 
a  week,  and  he  who  misses  forfeits  two-pence. 

'  If  you  are  willing  to  become  a  member,  draw  a  line  under 
your  name.  Return  the  hst.  We  meet  for  the  first  time  on 
Monday  at  eight.    I  am,  &c. 

'Dec.  4,  1783.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

It  did  not  suit  Sir  Joshua  to  be  one  of  this  Club.  But 
when  I  mention  only  Mr.  Daines  Barrington,  Dr.  Brocklesby, 
Mr.  Murphy,  Mr.  John  Nichols,  Mr.  Cooke,  Mr.  Joddrel,  Mr. 
Paradise,  Dr.  Horsley,  Mr.  Windham,^  I  shall  sufficiently 
obviate  the  misrepresentation  of  it  by  Sir  John  Hawkins,  as 

'  I  was  in  Scotland  when  this  Club  was  founded,  and  during  all  the 
winter.     Johnson,  however,  declared  I  should  be  a  member,  and  in- 


508  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i783 

if  it  had  been  a  low  ale-house  association,  by  which  Johnson 
was  degraded.  Johnson  himself,  like  his  namesake  Old  Ben, 
composed  the  Rules  of  his  Club. 

In  the  end  of  this  year  he  was  seized  with  a  spasmodick 
asthma  of  such  violence,  that  he  was  confined  to  the  house  in 
great  pain,  being  sometimes  obliged  to  sit  all  night  in  his 
chair,  a  recumbent  posture  being  so  hurtful  to  his  respiration, 
that  he  could  not  endure  lying  in  bed;  and  there  came  upon 
him  at  the  same  time  that  oppressive  and  fatal  disease,  a 
dropsy.  It  was  a  very  severe  winter,  which  probably  aggra- 
vated his  complaints;  and  the  solitude  in  which  Mr.  Levett 
and  Mrs.  Williams  had  left  him,  rendered  his  life  very  gloomy. 
Mrs.  Desmoulins,  who  still  lived,  was  herself  so  very  ill, 
that  she  could  contribute  very  Uttle  to  his  reUef.  He,  how- 
ever, had  none  of  that  unsocial  shyness  which  we  commonly 
see  in  p)eople  afflicted  with  sickness.  He  did  not  hide  his 
head  from  the  world,  in  solitary  abstraction;  he  did  not 
deny  himself  to  the  visits'  of  his  friends  and  acquaintances; 
but  at  all  times,  when  he  was  not  overcome  by  sleep,  was 
ready  for  conversation  as  in  his  best  days. 

*To  Mrs.  Lucy  Porter,  in  Lichfield. 

'Dear  Madam, — You  may  perhaps  think  me  negligent 
that  I  have  not  written  to  you  again  upon  the  loss  of  your 
brother;  but  condolences  and  consolations  are  such  com- 
mon and  such  useless  things,  that  the  omission  of  them  is 
no  great  crime:  and  my  own  diseases  occupy  my  mind,  and 
engage  my  care.  My  nights  are  miserably  restless,  and  my 
days,  therefore,  are  heavy.  I  try,  however,  to  hold  up  my 
head  as  high  as  I  can. 

*I  am  sorry  that  your  health  is  impaired;  perhaps  the 
spring  and  the  summer  may,  in  some  degree,  restore  it:  but 
if  not,  we  must  submit  to  the  inconveniences  of  time,  as  to 

vented  a  word  upon  the  occasion:  ' Boswell  (said  he,)  Is  a  very  clubable 
man.'  When  I  came  to  town  I  was  proposed  by  Mr.  Barrington,  and 
chosen.  I  believe  there  are  few  societies  where  there  is  better  conver- 
sation or  more  decorum.  Several  of  us  resolved  to  continue  it  after 
our  great  founder  was  removed  by  death.  Other  members  were  added: 
and  now,  above  eight  years  since  that  loss,  we  go  on  happily. — Br    .  ,„.  „ 


1784]         SCOTCH  PHYSICIAN  CONSULTED  509 

the  other  dispensations  of  Eternal  Goodness.     Pray  for  me, 

and  write  to  me,  or  let  Mr.  Pearson  write  for  you.     I  am,  &c. 

'London,  Nov.  29,  1783.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

1784:  ^TAT.  75.] — And  now  I  am  arrived  at  the  last  year 
of  the  life  of  Samuel  Johnson,  a  year  in  which,  although 
passed  in  severe  indisposition,  he  nevertheless  gave  many 
evidences  of  the  continuance  of  those  wondrous  powers  of 
mind,  which  raised  him  so  high  in  the  intellectual  world. 
His  conversation  and  his  letters  of  this  year  were  in  no  re- 
spect inferiour  to  those  of  former  years. 

In  consequence  of  Johnson's  request  that  I  should  ask  our 
physicians  about  his  case,  and  desire  Sir  Alexander  Dick  to 
send  his  opinion,  I  transmitted  him  a  letter  from  that  very 
amiable  Baronet,  then  in  his  eighty-first  year,  with  his  facul- 
ties as  entire  as  ever;  and  mentioned  his  expressions  to  me 
in  the  note  accompanying  it:  'With  my  most  affectionate 
■wishes  for  Dr.  Johnson's  recovery,  in  which  his  friends,  his 
country,  and  all  mankind  have  so  deep  a  stake:'  and  at  the 
same  time  a  full  opinion  upon  his  case  by  Dr.  Gillespie,  who, 
like  Dr.  Cullen,  had  the  advantage  of  having  passed  through 
the  gradations  of  surgery  and  pharmacy,  and  by  study  and 
practice  had  attained  to  such  skill,  that  my  father  settled  on 
him  two  hundred  pounds  a  year  for  five  years,  and  fifty  pounds 
a  year  during  his  life,  as  an  honorarium  to  secure  his  particu- 
lar attendance. 

I  also  applied  to  three  of  the  eminent  physicians  who  had 
chairs  in  our  celebrated  school  of  medicine  at  Edinburgh, 
Doctors  Cullen,  Hope,  and  Monro. 

All  of  them  paid  the  most  polite  attention  to  my  letter, 
and  its  venerable  object.  Dr.  Cullen's  words  concerning 
him  were,  'It  would  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  be  of 
any  service  to  a  man  whom  the  publick  properly  esteem,  and 
whom  I  esteem  and  respect  as  much  as  I  do  Dr.  Johnson.' 
Dr.  Hope's,  'Few  people  have  a  better  claim  on  me  than 
your  friend,  as  hardly  a  day  passes  that  I  do  not  ask  his 
opinion  about  this  or  that  word.'  Dr.  Monro's,  'I  most  sin- 
cerely join  you  in  sympathizing  with  that  very  worthy  and 
uawi^nious  character,  from  whom  his  country  has  derived 
much  instruction  and  entertainment.' 


510  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

'To  THE  Reverend  Dr.  Taylor,  Ashbourne, 
Derbyshire. 

'Dear  Sir, — What  can  be  the  reason  that  I  hear  nothing 
from  you  ?  I  hope  nothing  disables  you  from  writing.  What 
I  have  seen,  and  what  I  have  felt,  gives  me  reason  to  fear 
every  thing.  Do  not  omit  giving  me  the  comfort  of  know- 
ing, that  after  all  my  losses  I  have  yet  a  friend  left. 

'I  want  every  comfort.  My  life  is  very  solitary  and  very 
cheerless.  Though  it  has  pleased  God  wonderfully  to  de- 
liver me  from  the  dropsy,  I  am  yet  very  weak,  and  have  not 
passed  the  door  since  the  13th  of  December.  I  hope  for 
some  help  from  warm  weather,  which  will  surely  come  in 
time. 

'I  could  not  have  the  consent  of  the  physicians  to  go  to 
church  yesterday;  I  therefore  received  the  holy  sacrament 
at  home,  in  the  room  where  I  communicated  with  dear  Mrs. 
Williams,  a  little  before  her  death.  0 !  my  friend,  the  ap- 
proach of  death  is  very  dreadful.  I  am  afraid  to  think  on 
that  which  I  know  I  cannot  avoid.  It  is  vain  to  look  round 
and  round  for  that  help  which  cannot  be  had.  Yet  we  hope 
and  hope,  and  fancy  that  he  who  has  lived  to-day  may  live 
to-morrow.  But  let  us  learn  to  derive  our  hope  only  from 
God. 

*  In  the  mean  time,  let  us  be  kind  to  one  another.  I  have 
no  friend  now  living  but  you  and  Mr.  Hector,  that  was  the 
friend  of  my  youth.  Do  not  neglect,  dear  Sir,  yours  affec- 
tionately, 

'London,  Easter-Monday,  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

AprU  12,  1784.' 

What  follows  is  a  beautiful  specimen  of  his  gentleness  and 
complacency  to  a  young  lady  his  god-child,  one  of  the  daugh- 
ters of  his  friend  Mr.  Langton,  then  I  think  in  her  seventh 
year.  He  took  the  trouble  to  write  it  in  a  large  round  hand, 
nearly  resembling  printed  characters,  that  she  might  have 
the  satisfaction  of  reading  it  herself.  The  original  lies  be- 
fore me,  but  shall  be  faithfully  restored  to  her;  and  I  dare 
say  will  be  preserved  by  her  as  a  jewel  as  long  as  she  lives. 


1784]  LETTER  TO  HIS  GOD-CHILD  511 

'To  Miss  Jane  Langton,  in  Rochester,  Kent. 

'My  DEAREST  Miss  Jenny, — I  am  sorry  that  your  pretty 
letter  has  been  so  long  without  being  answered;  but,  when 
I  am  not  pretty  well,  I  do  not  always  write  plain  enough  for 
young  ladies.  I  am  glad,  my  dear,  to  see  that  you  write  so 
well,  and  hope  that  you  mind  your  pen,  your  book,  and  your 
needle,  for  they  are  all  necessary.  Your  books  will  give  you 
knowledge,  and  make  you  respected;  and  your  needle  will 
find  you  useful  employment  when  you  do  not  care  to  read. 
When  you  are  a  little  older,  I  hope  you  will  be  very  diligent 
in  learning  arithmetick,  and,  above  all,  that  through  your 
whole  life  you  will  carefully  say  your  prayers,  and  read  your 
Bible.    I  am,  my  dear,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'May  10,  1784.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

On  Wednesday,  May  5,  I  arrived  in  London,  and  next 
morning  had  the  pleasure  to  find  Dr.  Johnson  greatly  re- 
covered. I  but  just  saw  him;  for  a  coach  was  waiting  to 
carry  him  to  Islington,  to  the  house  of  his  friend  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Strahan,  where  he  went  sometimes  for  the  benefit 
of  good  air,  which,  notwithstanding  his  having  formerly 
laughed  at  the  general  opinion  upon  the  subject,  he  now 
acknowledged  was  conducive  to  health. 

One  morning  afterwards,  when  I  found  him  alone,  he 
communicated  to  me,  with  solemn  earnestness,  a  very  re- 
markable circumstance  which  had  happ)ened  in  the  course 
of  his  illness,  when  he  was  much  distressed  by  the  dropsy. 
He  had  shut  himself  up,  and  employed  a  day  in  particular 
exercises  of  religion — ^fasting,  humiliation,  and  prayer.  On 
a  sudden  he  obtained  extraordinary  relief,  for  which  he 
looked  up  to  Heaven  with  grateful  devotion.  He  made  no 
direct  inference  from  this  fact;  but  from  his  manner  of 
telling  it,  I  could  perceive  that  it  appeared  to  him  as  some- 
thing more  than  an  incident  in  the  common  course  of  events. 
For  my  own  part,  I  have  no  difficulty  to  avow  that  cast  of 
thinking,  which  by  many  modern  pretenders  to  wisdom  is 
called  superstitious.  But  here  I  think  even  men  of  dry 
rationality  may  believe,  that  there  was  an  intermediate  in- 


512  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

terposition  of   Divine   Providence,   and   that   'the   fervent 
prayer  of  this  righteous  man'  availed. 

On  Saturday,  May  15,  I  dined  with  him  at  Dr.  Brockles- 
by's,  where  were  Colonel  Valiancy,  Mr.  Murphy,  and  that 
ever-cheerful  companion  Mr.  Devaynes,  apothecary  to  his 
Majesty.  Of  these  days,  and  others  on  which  I  saw  him,  I 
have  no  memorials,  except  the  general  recollection  of  his 
being  able  and  animated  in  conversation,  and  appearing  to 
relish  society  as  much  as  the  youngest  man.  I  find  only 
these  three  small  particulars: — ^When  a  person  was  men- 
tioned, who  said,  'I  have  lived  fifty-one  years  in  this  world 
without  having  had  ten  minutes  of  uneasiness;'  he  exclaimed, 
'The  man  who  says  so,  lies:  he  attempts  to  impose  on  human 
credulity.'  The  Bishop  of  Exeter  in  vain  observed,  that  men 
were  very  different.  His  Lordship's  manner  was  not  im- 
pressive, and  I  learnt  afterwards  that  Johnson  did  not  find 
out  that  the  person  who  talked  to  him  was  a  Prelate;  if  he 
had,  I  doubt  not  that  he  would  have  treated  him  with  more 
respect;  for  once  talking  of  George  Psalmanazar,  whom  he 
reverenced  for  his  piety,  he  said,  'I  should  as  soon  think  of 
contradicting  a  Bishop.'  One  of  the  company'  provoked 
him  greatly  by  doing  what  he  could  least  of  all  bear,  which 
was  quoting  something  of  his  own  writing,  against  what  he 
then  maintained.  'What,  Sir,  (cried  the  gentleman,)  do  you 
say  to 

"The  busy  day,  the  peaceful  night, 
Unf elt,  uncounted,  glided  by  ?  " ' — 

Johnson  finding  himself  thus  presented  as  giving  an  instance 
of  a  man  who  had  lived  without  uneasiness,  was  much 
offended,  for  he  looked  upon  such  a  quotation  as  unfair.  His 
anger  burst  out  in  an  unjustifiable  retort,  insinuating  that 
the  gentleman's  remark  was  a  sally  of  ebriety;  'Sir,  there  is 
one  passion  I  would  advise  you  to  command:  when  you 
have  drunk  out  that  glass,  don't  drink  another.'  Here  was 
exemplified  what  Goldsmith  said  of  him,  with  the  aid  of 
a  very  witty  image  from  one  of  Gibber's  Comedies:  'There 
>  Boswell  himself,  likely  enough. — Hilu 


1784)  WITH  LITERARY  LADIES  513 

is  no  arguing  with  Johnson;  for  if  his  pistol  misses  fire,  he 
knocks  you  down  with  the  butt  end  of  it.'  Another  was 
this:  when  a  gentleman  of  eminence  in  the  Uterary  world 
was  violently  censured  for  attacking  people  by  anonymous 
paragraphs  in  news-papers;  he,  from  the  spirit  of  contra- 
diction as  I  thought,  took  up  his  defence,  and  said,  'Come, 
come,  this  is  not  so  terrible  a  crime;  he  means  only  to  vex 
them  a  little.  I  do  not  say  that  I  should  do  it;  but  there  is 
a  great  difference  between  him  and  me;  what  is  fit  for 
Hephsestion  is  not  fit  for  Alexander.'  Another,  when  I  told 
him  that  a  young  and  handsome  Countess  had  said  to  me, 
'I  should  think  that  to  be  praised  by  Dr.  Johnson  would 
make  one  a  fool  all  one's  life;'  and  that  I  answered,  'Madam, 
I  shall  make  him  a  fool  to-day,  by  repeating  this  to  him,'  he 
said,  'I  am  too  old  to  be  made  a  fool;  but  if  you  say  I  am 
made  a  fool,  I  shall  not  deny  it.  I  am  much  pleased  with 
a  compliment,  especially  from  a  pretty  woman.' 

On  the  evening  of  Saturday,  May  15,  he  was  in  fine  spirits, 
at  our  Essex-Head  Club.  He  told  us,  'I  dined  yesterday  at 
Mrs.  Garrick's,  with  Mrs.  Carter,  Miss  Hannah  More,  and 
Miss  Fanny  Burney.  Three  such  women  are  not  to  be 
found:  I  know  not  where  I  could  find  a  fourth,  except  Mrs. 
Lennox,  who  is  superiour  to  them  all.'  Boswell.  'What! 
had  you  them  all  to  yourself.  Sir?'  Johnson.  'I  had  them 
all  as  much  as  they  were  had;  but  it  might  have  been  better 
had  there  been  more  company  there.'  Boswell.  'Might 
not  Mrs.  Montagu  have  been  a  fourth?'  Johnson.  'Sir, 
Mrs.  Montagu  does  not  make  a  trade  of  her  wit;  but  Mrs. 
Montagu  is  a  very  extraordinary  woman;  she  has  a  constant 
stream  of  conversation,  and  it  is  always  impregnated;  it 
has  always  meaning.'  Boswell.  'Mr.  Burke  has  a  con- 
stant stream  of  conversation.'  Johnson.  '  Yes,  Sir;  if  a  man 
were  to  go  by  chance  at  the  same  time  with  Burke  under 
a  shed,  to  shun  a  shower,  he  would  say — "this  is  an  extraor- 
dinary man."  If  Burke  should  go  into  a  stable  to  see  his 
horse  drest,  the  ostler  would  say — "we  have  had  an  extraor- 
dinary man  here."'  Boswell.  'Foote  was  a  man  who 
never  failed  in  conversation.  If  he  had  gone  into  a  stable — ' 
Johnson.     'Sir,  if  he  had  gone  into  a  stable,  the  ostler  would 


514  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

have  said,  "here  has  been  a  comical  fellow";  but  he  would 
not  have  respected  him.'  Boswell.  'And,  Sir,  the  ostler 
would  have  answered  him,  would  have  given  him  as  good  as 
he  brought,  as  the  common  saying  is.'  Johnson.  'Yes,  Sir; 
and  Foote  would  have  answered  the  ostler. — When  Burke 
does  not  descend  to  be  merry,  his  conversation  is  very  su- 
periour  indeed.  There  is  no  proportion  between  the  powers 
which  he  shews  in  serious  talk  and  in  jocularity.  When  he 
lets  himself  down  to  that,  he  is  in  the  kennel.'  I  have  in 
another  place  opposed,  and  I  hope  with  success.  Dr.  John- 
son's very  singular  and  erroneous  notion  as  to  Mr.  Burke's 
pleasantry.  Mr.  Windham  now  said  low  to  me,  that  he 
differed  from  our  great  friend  in  this  observation;  for  that 
Mr.  Burke  was  often  very  happy  in  his  merriment.  It  would 
not  have  been  right  for  either  of  us  to  have  contradicted 
Johnson  at  this  time,  in  a  Society  all  of  whom  did  not  know 
and  value  Mr.  Burke  as  much  as  we  did.  It  might  have 
occasioned  something  more  rough,  and  at  any  rate  would 
probably  have  checked  the  flow  of  Johnson's  good-humour. 
He  called  to  us  with  a  sudden  air  of  exultation,  as  the  thought 
started  into  his  mind,  '  0 !  Gentlemen,  I  must  tell  you  a  very 
great  thing.  The  Empress  of  Russia  has  ordered  the  Ram- 
bler to  be  translated  into  the  Russian  language:  so  I  shall 
be  read  on  the  banks  of  the  Wolga.  Horace  boasts  that  his 
fame  would  extend  as  far  as  the  banks  of  the  Rhone;  now 
the  Wolga  is  farther  from  me  than  the  Rhone  was  from 
Horace.'  Boswell.  'You  must  certainly  be  pleased  with 
this.  Sir.'  Johnson.  'I  am  pleased,  Sir,  to  be  sure.  A  man 
is  pleased  to  find  he  has  succeeded  in  that  which  he  has 
endeavoured  to  do.' 

One  of  the  company  mentioned  his  having  seen  a  noble 
person  driving  in  his  carriage,  and  looking  exceedingly  well, 
notwithstanding  his  great  age.  Johnson.  'Ah,  Sir;  that 
is  nothing.  Bacon  observes,  that  a  stout  healthy  old  man  is 
like  a  tower  undermined.' 

On  Sunday,  May  16,  I  found  him  alone;  he  talked  of  Mrs. 
Thrale  with  much  concern,  saying,  'Sir,  she  has  done  every 
thing  wrong,  since  Thrale's  bridle  was  off  her  neck;'  and 
was  proceeding  to  mention  some  circumstances  which  have 


1784]  ON  EDITIONS  515 

since  been  the  subject  of  publick  discussion,  when  he  was 
interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Dr.  Douglas,  now  Bishop  of 
Salisbury. 

In  one  of  his  little  manuscript  diaries,  about  this  time, 
I  find  a  short  notice,  which  marks  his  amiable  disposition 
more  certainly  than  a  thousand  studied  declarations. — 
'Afternoon  spent  cheerfully  and  elegantly,  I  hope  without 
offence  to  God  or  man;  though  in  no  holy  duty,  yet  in  the 
general  exercise  and  cultivation  of  benevolence.' 

On  Monday,  May  17,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Dilly's, 
where  were  Colonel  Valiancy,  the  Reverend  Dr.  Gibbons,  and 
Mr.  Capel  Lofft,  who,  though  a  most  zealous  Whig,  has  a 
mind  so  full  of  learning  and  knowledge,  and  so  much  exer- 
cised in  various  departments,  and  withal  so  much  liberahty, 
that  the  stupendous  powers  of  the  literary  Goliath,  though 
they  did  not  frighten  this  little  David  of  popular  spirit,  could 
not  but  excite  his  admiration.  There  was  also  Mr.  Braith- 
waite  of  the  Post-office,  that  amiable  and  friendly  man,  who, 
with  modest  and  unassuming  manners,  has  associated  with 
many  of  the  wits  of  the  age.  Johnson  was  very  quiescent 
to-day.  Perhaps  too  I  was  indolent.  I  find  nothing  more 
of  him  in  my  notes,  but  that  when  I  mentioned  that  I  had 
seen  in  the  King's  library  sixty-three  editions  of  my  favourite 
Thomas  a  Kempis,  amongst  which  it  was  in  eight  languages, 
Latin,  German,  French,  ItaUan,  Spanish,  English,  Arabick, 
and  Armenian,  he  said,  he  thought  it  unnecessary  to  collect 
many  editions  of  a  book,  which  were  all  the  same,  except  as 
to  the  paper  and  print;  he  would  have  the  original,  and  all 
the  translations,  and  all  the  editions  which  had  any  vari- 
ations in  the  text.  He  approved  of  the  famous  collection  of 
editions  of  Horace  by  Douglas,  mentioned  by  Pope,  who  is 
said  to  have  had  a  closet  filled  with  them;  and  he  added, 
'every  man  should  try  to  collect  one  book  in  that  manner, 
and  present  it  to  a  publick  library.' 

On  Wednesday,  May  19,  I  sat  a  part  of  the  evening  with 
him,  by  ourselves.  I  observed,  that  the  death  of  our  friends 
might  be  a  consolation  against  the  fear  of  our  own  dissolu- 
tion, because  we  might  have  more  friends  in  the  other  world 
than  in  this.    He  perhaps  felt  this  as  a  reflection  upon  his 


516  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  li784 

apprehension  as  to  death;  and  said,  with  heat,  'How  can  a 
man  know  where  his  departed  friends  are,  or  whether  they 
will  be  his  friends  in  the  other  world  ?  How  many  friendships 
have  you  known  formed  upon  principles  of  virtue?  Most 
friendships  are  formed  by  caprice  or  by  chance,  mere  con- 
federacies^in  vice  or  leagues  in  folly.' 

We  talked  of  our  worthy  friend  Mr.  Langton.  He  said, 
'  I  know  not  who  will  go  to  Heaven  if  Langton  does  not.  Sir, 
I  could  almost  say.  Sit  anima  mea  cum  Langtono.'  I  men- 
tioned a  very  eminent  friend  as  a  virtuous  man.    Johnson. 

'Yes,  Sir;    but  has  not  the  evangelical  virtue  of 

Langton.    ,  I  am  afraid,  would  not  scruple  to  pick 

up  a  wench.' 

He  however  charged  Mr.  Langton  with  what  he  thought 
want  of  judgment  upon  an  interesting  occasion.  'When 
I  was  ill,  (said  he,)  I  desired  he  would  tell  me  sincerely  in 
what  he  thought  my  life  was  faulty.  Sir,  he  brought  me  a 
sheet  of  paper,  on  which  he  had  written  down  several  texts 
of  Scripture,  recommending  christian  charity.  And  when 
I  questioned  him  what  occasion  I  had  given  for  such  an 
animadversion,  all  that  he  could  say  amounted  to  this, — that 
I  sometimes  contradicted  people  in  conversation.  Now 
what  harm  does  it  do  to  any  man  to  be  contradicted?' 
BoswELL.  'I  suppose  he  meant  the  manner  of  doing  it; 
roughly, — and  harshly.'  Johnson.  'And  who  is  the  worse 
for  that?'  BoswELL.  'It  hurts  people  of  weak  nerves.' 
Johnson.  'I  know  no  such  weak-nerved  people.'  Mr. 
Burke,  to  whom  I  related  this  conference,  said,  'It  is  well,  if 
when  a  man  comes  to  die,  he  has  nothing  heavier  upon  his 
conscience  than  having  been  a  little  rough  in  conversation.' 

Johnson,  at  the  time  when  the  paper  was  presented  to 
him,  though  at  first  pleased  with  the  attention  of  his  friend, 
whom  he  thanked  in  an  earnest  manner,  soon  exclaimed,  in 
a  loud  and  angry  tone,  'What  is  your  drift,  Sir?'  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  pleasantly  observed,  that  it  was  a  scene  for  a 
comedy,  to  see  a  penitent  get  into  a  violent  passion  and  be- 
labour his  confessor. 

He  had  dined  that  day  at  Mr.  Hoole's,  and  Miss  Helen 
Maria  Williams  beuig  expected  in  the  evening,  Mr.  Hoole  put 


1784]  JAUNT  TO  OXFORD  517 

into  his  hands  her  beautiful  Ode  on  the  Peace  :  Johnson  read 
it  over,  and  when  this  elegant  and  accomplished  young  lady 
was  presented  to  him,  he  took  her  by  the  hand  in  the  most 
courteous  manner,  and  repeated  the  finest  stanza  of  her 
poem;  this  was  the  most  delicate  and  pleasing  compUment 
he  could  pay.  Her  respectable  friend,  Dr.  Kippis,  from 
whom  I  had  this  anecdote,  was  standing  by,  and  was  not 
a  little  gratified. 

Miss  Williams  told  me,  that  the  only  other  time  she  was 
fortunate  enough  to  be  in  Dr.  Johnson's  company,  he  asked 
her  to  sit  down  by  him,  which  she  did,  and  upon  her  in- 
quiring how  he  was,  he  answered,  'I  am  very  ill  indeed. 
Madam.  I  am  very  ill  even  when  you  are  near  me;  what 
should  I  be  were  you  at  a  distance?' 

He  had  now  a  great  desire  to  go  to  Oxford,  as  his  first 
jaunt  after  his  illness;  we  talked  of  it  for  some  days,  and 
I  had  promised  to  accompany  him.  He  was  impatient  and 
fretful  to-night,  because  I  did  not  at  once  agree  to  go  with 
him  on  Thursday.  When  I  considered  how  ill  he  had  been, 
and  what  allowance  should  be  made  for  the  influence  of 
sickness  upon  his  temp)er,  I  resolved  to  indulge  him,  though 
with  some  inconvenience  to  myself,  as  I  wished  to  attend  the 
musical  meeting  in  honour  of  Handel,  in  Westminster- Abbey, 
on  the  following  Saturday. 

In  the  midst  of  his  own  diseases  and  pains,  he  was  ever 
compassionate  to  the  distresses  of  others,  and  actively  ear- 
nest in  procuring  them  aid,  as  appears  from  a  note  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  of  June,  in  these  words: — 'I  am  ashamed 
to  ask  for  some  relief  for  a  poor  man,  to  whom,  I  hope,  I  have 
given  what  I  can  be  expected  to  spare.  The  man  impor- 
tunes me,  and  the  blow  goes  round.  I  am  going  to  try 
another  air  on  Thursday.' 

On  Thursday,  June  3,  the  Oxford  post-coach  took  us  up 
in  the  morning  at  Bolt-court.  The  other  two  passengers 
were  Mrs.  Beresford  and  her  daughter,  two  very  agreeable 
ladies  from  America;  they  were  going  to  Worcestershire, 
where  they  then  resided.  Frank  had  been  sent  by  his  master 
the  day  before  to  take  places  for  us;  and  I  found,  from  the 
waybill,  that  Dr.  Johnson  had  made  our  names  be  put  down. 


518  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  fi784 

Mrs.  Beresford,  who  had  read  it,  whispered  me,  'Is  this  the 
great  Dr.  Johnson?'  I  told  her  it  was;  so  she  was  then  pre- 
pared to  listen.  As  she  soon  happened  to  mention  in  a  voice 
so  low  that  Johnson  did  not  hear  it,  that  her  husband  had 
been  a  member  of  the  American  Congress,  I  cautioned  her  to 
beware  of  introducing  that  subject,  as  she  must  know  how 
very  violent  Johnson  was  against  the  people  of  that  country. 
He  talked  a  great  deal,  but  I  am  sorry  I  have  preserved  little 
of  the  conversation.  Miss  Beresford  was  so  much  charmed, 
that  she  said  to  me  aside, '  How  he  does  talk !  Every  sentence 
is  an  essay.'  She  amused  herself  in  the  coach  with  knotting; 
he  would  scarcely  allow  this  species  of  employment  any 
merit.  'Next  to  mere  idleness  (said  he,)  I  think  knotting 
is  to  be  reckoned  in  the  scale  of  insignificance;  though  I 
once  attempted  to  learn  knotting.  Dempster's  sister  (look- 
ing to  me,)  endeavoured  to  teach  me  it;  but  I  made  no 
progress.' 

I  was  surprised  at  his  talking  without  reserve  in  the  pub- 
lick  post-coach  of  the  state  of  his  affairs;  'I  have  (said  he,) 
about  the  world  I  think  above  a  thousand  pounds,  which 
I  intend  shall  afford  Frank  an  annuity  of  seventy  pounds  a 
year.'  Indeed  his  openness  with  people  at  a  first  interview 
was  remarkable.  He  said  once  to  Mr.  Langton,  'I  think 
I  am  like  Squire  Richard  in  The  Journey  to  London,  "I'm 
never  strange  in  a  strange  place.'"  He  was  truly  social.  He 
strongly  censured  what  is  much  too  common  in  England 
among  persons  of  condition, — ^maintaining  an  absolute  silence, 
when  unknown  to  each  other;  as  for  instance,  when  occa- 
sionally brought  together  in  a  room  before  the  master  or 
mistress  of  the  house  has  appeared.  'Sir,  that  is  being  so 
uncivilised  as  not  to  understand  the  common  rights  of 
humanity.' 

At  the  inn  where  we  stopped  he  was  exceedingly  dissatis- 
fied with  some  roast  mutton  which  we  had  for  dinner.  The 
ladies  I  saw  wondered  to  see  the  great  philosopher,  whose 
wisdom  and  wit  they  had  been  admiring  all  the  way,  get 
into  ill-humour  from  such  a  cause.  He  scolded  the  waiter, 
sajnng,  'It  is  as  bad  as  bad  can  be:  it  is  ill-fed,  ill-killed, 
ill-kept,  and  ill-drest.' 


1784]  IN  THE  OXFORD  COACH  519 

He  bore  the  journey  very  well,  and  seemed  to  feel  himself 
elevated  as  he  approached  Oxford,  that  magnificent  and 
venerable  seat  of  learning.  Orthodoxy,  and  Toryism.  Frank 
came  in  the  heavy  coach,  in  readiness  to  attend  him;  and 
we  were  received  with  the  most  polite  hospitality  at  the  house 
of  his  old  friend  Dr.  Adams,  Master  of  Pembroke  College, 
who  had  given  us  a  kind  invitation.  Before  we  were  set 
down,  I  communicated  to  Johnson,  my  having  engaged  to 
return  to  London  directly,  for  the  reason  I  have  mentioned, 
but  that  I  would  hasten  back  to  him  again.  He  was  pleased 
that  I  had  made  this  journey  merely  to  keep  him  company. 
He  was  easy  and  placid,  with  Dr.  Adams,  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Adams,  and  Mrs.  Kennicot,  widow  of  the  learned  Hebraean, 
who  was  here  on  a  visit.  He  soon  dispatched  the  inquiries 
which  were  made  about  his  illness  and  recovery,  by  a  short 
and  distinct  narrative;  and  then  assuming  a  gay  air,  re- 
peated from  Swift, — 

'  Nor  think  on  our  approaching  ills. 
And  talk  of  spectacles  and  pills.' 

I  fulfilled  my  intention  by  going  to  London,  and  returned 
to  Oxford  on  Wednesday  the  9th  of  June,  when  I  was  happy 
to  find  myself  again  in  the  same  agreeable  circle  at  Pembroke 
College,  with  the  comfortable  prospect  of  making  some  stay. 
Johnson  welcomed  my  return  with  more  than  ordinary  glee. 

Next  morning  at  breakfast,  he  pointed  out  a  passage  in 
Savage's  Wanderer,  saying,  'These  are  fine  verses.'  'If  (said 
he,)  I  had  written  with  hostility  of  Warburton  in  my  Shak- 
speare,  I  should  have  quoted  this  couplet: — 

"Here  Learning,  blinded  first  and  then  beguil'd, 
Looks  dark  as  Ignorance,  as  Fancy  wild." 

You  see  they'd  have  fitted  him  to  a  T,'  (smiling.)     Dr. 
Adams.     'But  you  did  not  write  against  Warburton.'     John- 
son.    'No,  Sir,  I  treated  him  with  great  respect  both  in  my 
Preface  and  in  my  Notes.' 
After  dinner,  when  one  of  us  talked  of  there  being  a  great 


520  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

enmity  between  Whig  and  Tory; — Johnson.  'Why  not  so 
much,  I  think,  unless  when  they  come  into  competition  with 
each  other.  There  is  none  when  they  are  only  common  ac- 
quaintance, none  when  they  are  of  different  sexes.  A  Tory 
will  marry  into  a  Whig  family,  and  a  Whig  into  a  Tory  fam- 
ily, without  any  reluctance.  But  indeed,  in  a  matter  of 
much  more  concern  than  poUtical  tenets,  and  that  is  religion, 
men  and  women  do  not  concern  themselves  much  about 
difference  of  opinion;  and  ladies  set  no  value  on  the  moral 
character  of  men  who  pay  their  addresses  to  them;  the 
greatest  profligate  will  be  as  well  received  as  the  man  of  the 
greatest  virtue,  and  this  by  a  very  good  woman,  by  a  woman 
who  says  her  prayers  three  times  a  day.'  Our  ladies  endeav- 
oured to  defend  their  sex  from  this  charge ;  but  he  roared  them 
down!  *No,  no,  a  lady  will  take  Jonathan  Wild  as  readily 
as  St.  Austin,  if  he  has  threepence  more;  and,  what  is  worse, 
her  parents  will  give  her  to  him.  Women  have  a  perpetual 
envy  of  our  vices;  they  are  less  vicious  than  we,  not  from 
choice,  but  because  we  restrict  them;  they  are  the  slaves  of 
order  and  fashion;  their  virtue  is  of  more  consequence  to  us 
than  our  own,  so  far  as  concerns  this  world.' 

Miss  Adams  mentioned  a  gentleman  of  licentious  character, 
and  said,  'Suppose  I  had  a  mind  to  marry  that  gentleman, 
would  my  parents  consent?'  Johnson.  'Yes,  they'd  con- 
sent, and  you'd  go.  You'd  go  though  they  did  not  consent.' 
Miss  Adams.  'Perhaps  their  opposing  might  make  me  go.' 
Johnson.  'O,  very  well;  you'd  take  one  whom  you  think 
a  bad  man,  to  have  the  pleasure  of  vexing  your  parents.  You 
put  me  in  mind  of  Dr.  Barrowby,  the  physician,  who  was 
very  fond  of  swine's  flesh.  One  day,  when  he  was  eating  it, 
he  said,  "  I  wish  I  was  a  Jew."  "  Why  so?  (said  somebody;) 
the  Jews  are  not  allowed  to  eat  your  favourite  meat."  "  Be- 
cause, (said  he,)  I  should  then  have  the  gust  of  eating  it, 
with  the  pleasure  of  sinning." '  Johnson  then  proceeded  in 
his  declamation. 

Miss  Adams  soon  afterwards  made  an  observation  that 
I  do  not  recollect,  which  pleased  him  much:  he  said  with  a 
good-humoured  smile,  'That  there  should  be  so  much  ex- 
cellence united  with  so  much  depravity,  is  strange.' 


1784]  ON  PRAYERS  521 

Indeed,  this  lady's  good  qualities,  merit,  and  accomplish- 
ments, and  her  constant  attention  to  Dr.  Johnson,  were  not 
lost  upon  him.  She  happened  to  tell  him  that  a  little  coffee- 
pot, in  which  she  had  made  his  coffee,  was  the  only  thing  she 
could  call  her  own.  He  turned  to  her  with  a  complacent 
gallantry,  'Don't  say  so,  my  dear;  I  hope  you  don't  reckon 
my  heart  as  nothing.' 

On  Friday,  June  11,  we  talked  at  breakfast,  of  forms  of 
prayer.  Johnson.  'I  know  of  no  good  prayers  but  those 
in  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer.'  Dr.  Adams,  (in  a  very 
earnest  manner:)  'I  wish.  Sir,  you  would  compose  some  fam- 
ily prayers.'  Johnson.  'I  will  not  compose  prayers  for 
you,  Sir,  because  you  can  do  it  for  yourself.  But  I  have 
thought  of  getting  together  all  the  books  of  prayers  which  I 
could,  selecting  those  which  should  appear  to  me  the  best, 
putting  out  some,  inserting  others,  adding  some  prayers  of 
my  own,  and  prefixing  a  discourse  on  prayer.'  We  all  now 
gathered  about  him,  and  two  or  three  of  us  at  a  time  joined 
in  pressing  him  to  execute  this  plan.  He  seemed  to  be  a 
little  displeased  at  the  manner  of  our  importunity,  and  in 
great  agitation  called  out,  'Do  not  talk  thus  of  what  is  so 
aweful.  I  know  not  what  time  God  will  allow  me  in  this 
world.  There  are  many  things  which  I  wish  to  do.'  Some 
of  us  persisted,  and  Dr.  Adams  said,  '  I  never  was  more  seri- 
ous about  any  thing  in  my  life.'  Johnson.  'Let  me  alone^ 
let  me  alone;  I  am  overpowered.'  And  then  he  put  his  hands 
before  his  face,  and  reclined  for  some  time  upon  the  table. 

Dr.  Johnson  and  I  went  in  Dr.  Adams's  coach  to  dine  with 
Dr.  Nowell,  Principal  of  St.  Mary  Hall,  at  his  beautiful  villa 
at  Iflfley,  on  the  banks  of  the  Isis,  about  two  miles  from  Ox- 
ford. While  we  were  upon  the  road,  I  had  the  resolution 
to  ask  Johnson  whether  he  thought  that  the  roughness  of 
his  manner  had  been  an  advantage  or  not,  and  if  he  would 
not  have  done  more  good  if  he  had  been  more  gentle.  I  pro- 
ceeded to  answer  myself  thus:  'Perhaps  it  has  been  of  ad- 
vantage, as  it  has  given  weight  to  what  you  said :  you  could 
not,  perhaps,  have  talked  with  such  authority  without  it.' 
Johnson.  'No,  Sir;  I  have  done  more  good  as  I  am.  Ob- 
scenity and  Impiety  have  always  been  repressed  in  my  com- 


522  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

pany.*  Boswell.  'True,  Sir;  and  that  is  more  than  can 
be  said  of  every  Bishop.  Greater  Hberties  have  been  taken 
in  the  presence  of  a  Bishop,  though  a  very  good  man,  from 
his  being  milder,  and  therefore  not  commanding  such  awe. 
Yet,  Sir,  many  people  who  might  have  been  benefited  by 
your  conversation,  have  been  frightened  away.  A  worthy 
friend  of  ours  has  told  me,  that  he  has  often  been  afraid  to 
talk  to  you.'  Johnson.  'Sir,  he  need  not  have  been  afraid, 
if  he  had  any  thing  rational  to  say.  If  he  had  not,  it  was 
better  he  did  not  talk.' 

We  talked  of  a  certain  clergyman  of  extraordinary  charac- 
ter, who  by  exerting  his  talents  in  writing  on  temporary 
topicks,  and  displaying  uncommon  intrepidity,  had  raised 
himself  to  affluence.  I  maintained  that  we  ought  not  to  be 
indignant  at  his  success;  for  merit  of  every  sort  was  entitled 
to  reward.  Johnson.  'Sir,  I  will  not  allow  this  man  to 
have  merit.  No,  Sir;  what  he  has  is  rather  the  contrary;  I 
will,  indeed,  allow  him  courage,  and  on  this  account  we  so 
far  give  him  credit.  We  have  more  respect  for  a  man  who 
robs  boldly  on  the  highway,  than  for  a  fellow  who  jumps 
out  of  a  ditch,  and  knocks  you  down  behind  your  back. 
Courage  is  a  quality  so  necessary  for  maintaining  virtue,  that 
it  is  always  respected,  even  when  it  is  associated  with  vice.' 

Mr.  Henderson,  with  whom  I  had  sauntered  in  the  vener- 
able walks  of  Merton  College,  and  found  him  a  very  learned 
and  pious  man,  supped  with  us.  Dr.  Johnson  surprised  him 
not  a  little,  by  acknowledging  with  a  look  of  horrour,  that  he 
was  much  oppressed  by  the  fear  of  death.  The  amiable  Dr. 
Adams  suggested  that  God  was  infinitely  good.  Johnson. 
'That  he  is  infinitely  good,  as  far  as  the  perfection  of  his 
nature  will  allow,  I  certainly  believe;  but  it  is  necessary  for 
good  upon  the  whole,  that  individuals  should  be  punished. 
As  to  an  individual,  therefore,  he  is  not  infinitely  good;  and 
as  I  cannot  be  sure  that  I  have  fulfilled  the  conditions  on 
which  salvation  is  granted,  I  am  afraid  I  may  be  one  of  those 
who  shall  be  damned.'  (looking  dismally).  Dr.  Adams. 
'What  do  you  mean  by  damned?'  Johnson,  (passionately 
and  loudly,)  'Sent  to  Hell,  Sir,  and  punished  everlastingly!' 
Dr.    Adams.     'I   don't   believe   that   doctrine.'    Johnson. 


1784]  EVERLASTING  PUNISHMENT  523 

*  Hold,  Sir,  do  you  believe  that  some  will  be  punished  at  all  ? ' 
Dr.  Adams.  '  Being  excluded  from  Heaven  will  be  a  punish- 
ment; yet  there  may  be  no  great  positive  suffering.'  John- 
son. '  Well,  Sir;  but,  if  you  admit  any  degree  of  punishment, 
there  is  an  end  of  your  argument  for  infinite  goodness  simply 
considered;  for,  infinite  goodness  would  inflict  no  punish- 
ment whatever.  There  is  not  infinite  goodness  physically 
considered;  morally  there  is.'  Boswell.  'But  may  not 
a  man  attain  to  such  a  degree  of  hope  as  not  to  be  uneasy 
from  the  fear  of  death  ? '  Johnson.  '  A  man  may  have  such 
a  degree  of  hope  as  to  keep  him  quiet.  You  see  I  am  not 
quiet,  from  the  vehemence  with  which  I  talk;  but  I  do  not 
despair.'  Mrs.  Adams.  'You  seem,  Sir,  to  forget  the  merits 
of  our  Redeemer.'  Johnson.  'Madam,  I  do  not  forget  the 
merits  of  my  Redeemer;  but  my  Redeemer  has  said  that  he 
will  set  some  on  his  right  hand  and  some  on  his  left.'  He 
was  in  gloomy  agitation,  and  said,  'I'll  have  no  more  on't.' 
If  what  has  now  been  stated  should  be  urged  by  the  enemies 
of  Christianity,  as  if  its  influence  on  the  mind  were  not  be- 
nignant, let  it  be  remembered,  that  Johnson's  temperament 
was  melancholy,  of  which  such  direful  apprehensions  of 
futurity  are  often  a  common  effect.  We  shall  presently  see 
that  when  he  approached  nearer  to  his  aweful  change,  his 
mind  became  tranquil,  and  he  exhibited  as  much  fortitude 
as  becomes  a  thinking  man  in  that  situation. 

From  the  subject  of  death  we  passed  to  discourse  of  life, 
whether  it  was  upon  the  whole  more  happy  or  miserable. 
Johnson  was  decidedly  for  the  balance  of  misery:  in  con- 
firmation of  which  I  maintained,  that  no  man  would  choose 
to  lead  over  again  the  life  which  he  had  experienced.  John- 
son acceded  to  that  opinion  in  the  strongest  terms. 

On  Sunday,  June  13,  our  philosopher  was  calm  at  break- 
fast. There  was  something  exceedingly  pleasing  in  our 
leading  a  College  life,  without  restraint,  and  with  superiour 
elegance,  in  consequence  of  our  living  in  the  Master's  house, 
and  having  the  company  of  ladies.  Mrs.  Kennicot  related, 
in  his  presence,  a  lively  saying  of  Dr.  Johnson  to  Miss  Han- 
nah More,  who  had  expressed  a  wonder  that  the  poet  who 
had  written  Paradise  Lost  should  write  such  poor  Sonnets: — 


524  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

'Milton,  Madam,  was  a  genius  that  could  cut  a  Colossus  from 
a  rock;  but  could  not  carve  heads  upon  cherry-stones.' 

On  Monday,  June  14,  and  Tuesday,  15,  Dr.  Johnson  and 
I  dined,  on  one  of  them,  I  forget  which,  with  Mr.  Mickle, 
translator  of  the  Lusiad,  at  Wheatley,  a  very  pretty  country 
place  a  few  miles  from  Oxford;  and  on  the  other  with  Dr. 
Wetherell,  Master  of  University  College.  From  Dr.  Weth- 
erell's  he  went  to  visit  Mr.  Sackville  Parker,  the  bookseller; 
and  when  he  returned  to  us,  gave  the  following  account  of 
his  visit,  saying,  'I  have  been  to  see  my  old  friend,  Sack. 
Parker;  I  find  he  has  married  his  maid;  he  has  done  right. 
She  had  lived  with  him  many  years  in  great  confidence,  and 
they  had  mingled  minds;  I  do  not  think  he  could  have  found 
any  wife  that  would  have  made  him  so  happy.  The  woman 
was  very  attentive  and  civil  to  me;  she  pressed  me  to  fix  a 
day  for  dining  with  them,  and  to  say  what  I  liked,  and  she 
would  be  sure  to  get  it  for  me.  Poor  Sack !  He  is  very  ill, 
indeed.  We  parted  as  never  to  meet  again.  It  has  quite 
broke  me  down.'  This  pathetic  narrative  was  strangely 
diversified  with  the  grave  and  earnest  defence  of  a  man's 
having  married  his  maid.  I  could  not  but  feel  it  as  in  some 
degree  ludicrous. 

In  the  morning  of  Tuesday,  June  15,  while  we  sat  at  Dr. 
Adams's,  we  talked  of  a  printed  letter  from  the  Reverend 
Herbert  Croft,  to  a  young  gentleman  who  had  been  his  pupil, 
in  which  he  advised  him  to  read  to  the  end  of  whatever 
books  he  should  begin  to  read.  Johnson.  'This  is  surely 
a  strange  advice;  you  may  as  well  resolve  that  whatever  men 
you  happen  to  get  acquainted  with,  you  are  to  keep  to  them 
for  life.  A  book  may  be  good  for  nothing;  or  there  may  be 
only  one  thing  in  it  worth  knowing;  are  we  to  read  it  all 
through?  These  Voyages,  (pointing  to  the  three  large 
volumes  of  Voyages  to  the  South  Sea,  which  were  just  come 
out)  who  will  read  them  through?  A  man  had  better  work 
his  way  before  the  mast,  than  read  them  through;  they  will 
be  eaten  by  rats  and  mice,  before  they  are  read  through. 
There  can  be  little  entertainment  in  such  books;  one  set  of 
Savages  is  like  another.'  Boswell.  'I  do  not  think  the 
people  of  Otaheit^  can  be  reckoned  Savages.'     Johnson. 


1784]  THE  STUDY  OF  LAW  525 

'Don't  cant  in  defence  of  Savages.'  Boswell.  'They  have 
the  art  of  navigation.'  Johnson.  'A  dog  or  a  cat  can  swim.' 
Boswell.  'They  carve  very  ingeniously.'  Johnson.  'A 
cat  can  scratch,  and  a  child  with  a  nail  can  scratch.'  I  per- 
ceived this  was  none  of  the  mollia  tempora  fandi;  so  desisted. 

Upon  his  mentioning  that  when  he  came  to  College  he 
wrote  his  first  exercise  twice  over;  but  never  did  so  after- 
wards; Miss  Adams.  'I  suppose,  Sir,  you  could  not  make 
them  better?'  Johnson.  '  Yes,  Madam,  to  be  sure,  I  could 
make  them  better.  Thought  is  better  than  no  thought.' 
Miss  Adams.  'Do  you  think.  Sir,  you  could  make  your 
Ramblers  better?'  Johnson.  'Certainly  I  could.'  Bos- 
well. 'I'll  lay  a  bet,  Sir,  you  cannot.'  Johnson.  'But 
I  will.  Sir,  if  I  choose.  I  shall  make  the  best  of  them  you 
shall  pick  out,  better.'  Boswell.  'But  you  may  add  to 
them.  I  will  not  allow  of  that.'  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir, 
there  are  three  ways  of  making  them  better; — putting  out, — 
adding, — or  correcting.' 

During  our  visit  at  Oxford,  the  following  conversation 
passed  between  him  and  me  on  the  subject  of  my  trying  my 
fortune  at  the  EngUsh  bar:  Having  asked  whether  a  very 
extensive  acquaintance  in  London,  which  was  very  valuable, 
and  of  great  advantage  to  a  man  at  large,  might  not  be  prej- 
udicial to  a  lawyer,  by  preventing  him  from  giving  sufficient 
attention  to  his  business; — Johnson.  'Sir,  you  will  attend 
to  business,  as  business  lays  hold  of  you.  When  not  actually 
employed,  you  may  see  your  friends  as  much  as  you  do  now. 
You  may  dine  at  a  Club  every  day,  and  sup  with  one  of  the 
members  every  night;  and  you  may  be  as  much  at  publick 
places  as  one  who  has  seen  them  all  would  wish  to  be.  But 
you  must  take  care  to  attend  constantly  in  Westminster- 
Hall;  both  to  mind  your  business,  as  it  is  almost  all  learnt 
there,  (for  nobody  reads  now;)  and  to  shew  that  you  want  to 
have  business.  And  you  must  not  be  too  often  seen  at  pub- 
lick  places,  that  competitors  may  not  have  it  to  say,  "He  is 
always  at  the  Playhouse  or  at  Ranelagh,  and  never  to  be 
found  at  his  chambers."  And,  Sir,  there  must  be  a  kind 
of  solemnity  in  the  manner  of  a  professional  man.  I  have 
nothing  particular  to  say  to  you  on  the  subject.    All  this 


526  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

I  should  say  to  any  one;  I  should  have  said  it  to  Lord 
Thurlow  twenty  years  ago.' 

On  Wednesday,  June  19,  Dr.  Johnson  and  I  returned  to 
London;  he  was  not  well  to-day,  and  said  very  little,  em- 
ploying himself  chiefly  in  reading  Euripides.  He  expressed 
some  displeasure  at  me,  for  not  observing  sufficiently  the 
various  objects  upon  the  road.  'If  I  had  your  eyes.  Sir, 
(said  he,)  I  should  count  the  passengers.'  It  was  wonderful 
how  accurate  his  observation  of  visual  objects  was,  notwith- 
standing his  imperfect  eyesight,  owing  to  a  habit  of  atten- 
tion. That  he  was  much  satisfied  with  the  respect  paid  to 
him  at  Dr.  Adams's  is  thus  attested  by  himself:  'I  returned 
last  night  from  Oxford,  after  a  fortnight's  abode  with  Dr. 
Adams,  who  treated  me  as  well  as  I  could  expect  or  wish; 
and  he  that  contents  a  sick  man,  a  man  whom  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  please,  has  surely  done  his  part  well.' 

After  his  return  to  London  from  this  excursion,  I  saw  him 
frequently,  but  have  few  memorandums:  I  shall  therefore 
here  insert  some  particulars  which  I  collected  at  various  times. 

It  having  been  mentioned  to  Dr.  Johnson  that  a  gentle- 
man who  had  a  son  whom  he  imagined  to  have  an  extreme 
degree  of  timidity,  resolved  to  send  him  to  a  publick  school, 
that  he  might  acquire  confidence; — 'Sir,  (said  Johnson,) 
this  is  a  preposterous  expedient  for  removing  his  infirmity; 
such  a  disposition  should  be  cultivated  in  the  shade.  Plac- 
ing him  at  a  publick  school  is  forcing  an  owl  upon  day.' 

Speaking  of  a  gentleman  whose  house  was  much  frequented 
by  low  company;  'Rags,  Sir,  (said  he,)  will  always  make 
their  appearance  where  they  have  a  right  to  do  it.' 

Of  the  same  gentleman's  mode  of  living,  he  said,  'Sir,  the 
servants,  instead  of  doing  what  they  are  bid,  stand  round 
the  table  in  idle  clusters,  gaping  upon  the  guests;  and  seem 
as  unfit  to  attend  a  company,  as  to  steer  a  man  of  war.' 

A  dull  country  magistrate  gave  Johnson  a  long  tedious 
account  of  his  exercising  his  criminal  jurisdiction,  the  result 
of  which  was  his  having  sentenced  four  convicts  to  transpor- 
tation. Johnson,  in  an  agony  of  impatience  to  get  rid  of 
such  a  companion,  exclaimed,  'I  heartily  wish.  Sir,  that  I 
were  a  fifth.' 


1784]  HORACE  WALPOLE  527 

Johnson  was  present  when  a  tragedy  was  read,  in  which 
there  occurred  this  line: — 

'  Who  rules  o'er  freemen  should  himseK  be  free.' 

The  company  having  admired  it  much,  '  I  cannot  agree  with 
you  (said  Johnson).     It  might  as  well  be  said, — 

'Who  drives  fat  oxen  should  himself  be  fat.' 

Johnson  having  argued  for  some  time  with  a  pertinacious 
gentleman;  his  opponent,  who  had  talked  in  a  very  puzzling 
manner,  happened  to  say,  'I  don't  understand  you.  Sir:' 
upon  which  Johnson  observed,  'Sir,  I  have  found  you  an 
argument;  but  I  am  not  obliged  to  find  you  an  under- 
standing.' 

Talking  to  me  of  Horry  Walpole,  (as  Horace  late  Earl  of 
Orford  was  often  called,)  Johnson  allowed  that  he  got  to- 
gether a  great  many  curious  little  things,  and  told  them  in 
an  elegant  manner.  Mr.  Walpole  thought  Johnson  a  more 
amiable  character  after  reading  his  Letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale: 
but  never  was  one  of  the  true  admirers  of  that  great  man. 
We  may  suppose  a  prejudice  conceived,  if  he  ever  heard 
Johnson's  account  to  Sir  George  Staunton,  that  when  he 
made  the  speeches  in  parliament  for  the  Gentleman's  Maga- 
zine, 'he  always  took  care  to  put  Sir  Robert  Walpole  in  the 
wrong,  and  to  say  every  thing  he  could  against  the  electorate 
of  Hanover.'  The  celebrated  Heroick  Epistle,  in  which 
Johnson  is  satyrically  introduced,  has  been  ascribed  both  to 
Mr.  Walpole  and  Mr.  Mason.  One  day  at  Mr.  Courtenay's, 
when  a  gentleman  expressed  his  opinion  that  there  was  more 
energj'  in  that  poem  than  could  be  expected  from  Mr.  Wal- 
pole; Mr.  Warton,  the  late  Laureat,  observed,  'It  may  have 
been  written  by  Walpole,  and  biickram'd  by  Mason.' 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  having  said  that  he  took  the  altitude 
of  a  man's  taste  by  his  stories  and  his  wit,  and  of  his  under- 
standing by  the  remarks  which  he  repeated;  being  always 
sure  that  he  must  be  a  weak  man  who  quotes  common  things 
with  an  emphasis  as  if  they  were  oracles;    Johnson  agreed 


588  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

with  him;  and  Sir  Joshua  having  also  observed  that  the  real 
character  of  a  man  was  found  out  by  his  amusements, — 
Johnson  added,  'Yes,  Sir;  no  man  is  a  hypocrite  in  his 
pleasures.' 

I  have  mentioned  Johnson's  general  aversion  to  a  pun. 
He  once,  however,  endured  one  of  mine.  When  we  were 
talking  of  a  numerous  company  in  which  he  had  distin- 
guished himself  highly,  I  said,  'Sir,  you  were  a  Cod  sur- 
rounded by  smelts.  Is  not  this  enough  for  you?  at  a  time 
too  when  you  were  not  fishing  for  a  compliment?'  He 
laughed  at  this  with  a  complacent  approbation.  Old  Mr. 
Sheridan  observed,  upon  my  mentioning  it  to  him,  'He  liked 
your  compliment  so  well,  he  was  willing  to  take  it  with  pun 
sauce.'  For  my  own  part,  I  think  no  innocent  species  of 
wit  or  pleasantry  should  be  suppressed;  and  that  a  good 
pun  may  be  admitted  among  the  smaller  excellencies  of  lively 
conversation. 

Mr.  Burke  uniformly  shewed  Johnson  the  greatest  respect ; 
and  when  Mr.  Townshend,  now  Lord  Sydney,  at  a  period 
when  he  was  conspicuous  in  opposition,  threw  out  some  re- 
flection in  parliament  upon  the  grant  of  a  pension  to  a  man 
of  such  political  principles  as  Johnson;  Mr.  Burke,  though 
then  of  the  same  party  with  Mr.  Townshend,  stood  warmly 
forth  in  defence  of  his  friend,  to  whom,  he  justly  observed, 
the  pension  was  granted  solely  on  account  of  his  eminent 
literary  merit.  I  am  well  assured,  that  Mr.  Townshend's 
attack  upon  Johnson  was  the  occasion  of  his  'hitching  in  a 
rhyme;'  for,  that  in  the  original  copy  of  Goldsmith's  char- 
acter of  Mr.  Burke,  in  his  Retaliation,  another  person's  name 
stood  in  the  couplet  where  Mr.  Townshend  is  now  intro- 
duced:— 

'Though  fraught  with  all  learning  kept  straining  his  throat, 
To  persuade  Tommy  Townshend  to  lend  him  a  vote.' 

It  may  be  worth  remarking,  among  the  minuiioe  of  my 
collection,  that  Johnson  was  once  drawn  to  serve  in  the 
militia,  the  Trained  Bands  of  the  City  of  London,  and  that 
Mr.  Rackstrow,  of  the  Museum  in  Fleet-street,  was  hi>^ 


1784]     SIR  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS'S  DISCOURSE     529 

Colonel.  It  may  be  believed  he  did  not  serve  in  person; 
but  the  idea,  with  all  its  circumstances,  is  certainly  laugh- 
able. He  upon  that  occasion  provided  himself  with  a  musket, 
and  with  a  sword  and  belt,  which  I  have  seen  hanging  in 
his  closet. 

An  authour  of  most  anxious  and  restless  vanity  being  men- 
tioned, 'Sir,  (said  he,)  there  is  not  a  young  sapling  upon 
Parnassus  more  severely  blown  about  by  every  wind  of 
criticism  than  that  poor  fellow.' 

The  difference,  he  observed,  between  a  well-bred  and  an  ill- 
bred  man  is  this :  '  One  immediately  attracts  your  liking,  the 
other  your  aversion.  You  love  the  one  till  you  find  reason 
to  hate  him ;  you  hate  the  other  till  you  find  reason  to  love 
him.' 

A  foppish  physician  once  reminded  Johnson  of  his  having 
been  in  company  with  him  on  a  former  occasion;  'I  do  not 
remember  it.  Sir.'  The  physician  still  insisted;  adding  that 
he  that  day  wore  so  fine  a  coat  that  it  must  have  attracted 
his  notice.  'Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  had  you  been  dipt  in  Pac- 
tolus  I  should  not  have  noticed  you.' 

He  seemed  to  take  a  pleasure  in  speaking  in  his  own  style; 
for  when  he  had  carelessly  missed  it,  he  would  repeat  the 
thought  translated  into  it.  Talking  of  the  Comedy  of  The 
Rehearsal,  he  said,  'It  has  not  wit  enough  to  keep  it  sweet.' 
This  was  easy;  he  therefore  caught  himself,  and  pronounced 
a  more  round  sentence;  'It  has  not  vitality  enough  to  pre- 
serve it  from  putrefaction.' 

Though  he  had  no  taste  for  painting,  he  admired  much  the 
manner  in  which  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  treated  of  his  art,  in 
his  Discourses  to  the  Royal  Academy.  He  observed  one  day 
of  a  passage  in  them,  'I  think  I  might  as  well  have  said  this 
myself:'  and  once  when  Mr.  Langton  was  sitting  by  him,  he 
read  one  of  them  very  eagerly,  and  expressed  himself  thus: — 
'Very  well.  Master  Reynolds;  very  well,  indeed.  But  it 
will  not  be  understood.' 

When  I  observed  to  him  that  Painting  was  so  far  inferiour 
to  Poetry,  that  the  story  or  even  emblem  which  it  communi- 
cates must  be  previously  known,  and  mentioned  as  a  natural 
and  laughable  instance  of  this,  that  a  little  Miss  on  seeing 


530  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

a,  picture  of  Justice  with  the  scales,  had  exclaimed  to  me, 
'See,  there's  a  woman  selling  sweetmeats;'  he  said,  'Paint- 
ing, Sir,  can  illustrate,  but  cannot  inform.' 

No  man  was  more  ready  to  make  an  apology  when  he  had 
■censured  unjustly,  than  Johnson.  When  a  proof-sheet  of 
one  of  his  works  was  brought  to  him,  he  found  fault  with  the 
mode  in  which  a  part  of  it  was  arranged,  refused  to  read  it, 
-and  in  a  passion  desired  that  the  compositor  might  be  sent 
to  him.  The  compositor  was  Mr.  Manning,  a  decent  sen- 
sible man,  who  had  composed  about  one  half  of  his  Dictionary, 
when  in  Mr.  Strahan's  printing-house;  and  a  great  part  of 
his  Lives  of  the  Poets,  when  in  that  of  Mr.  Nichols;  and  who 
(in  his  seventy-seventh  year),  when  in  Mr.  Baldwin's  print- 
ing-house, composed  a  part  of  the  first  edition  of  this  work 
■concerning  him.  By  producing  the  manuscript,  he  at  once 
satisfied  Dr.  Johnson  that  he  was  not  to  blame.  Upon 
which  Johnson  candidly  and  earnestly  said  to  him,  'Mr. 
Compositor,  I  ask  your  pardon.  Mr.  Compositor,  I  ask  your 
pardon,  again  and  again.' 

His  generous  humanity  to  the  miserable  was  almost  be- 
yond example.  The  following  instance  is  well  attested: — 
Coming  home  late  one  night,  he  found  a  poor  woman  lying 
in  the  street,  so  much  exhausted  that  she  could  not  walk; 
lie  took  her  upon  his  back,  and  carried  her  to  his  house, 
where  he  discovered  that  she  was  one  of  those  wretched 
females  who  had  fallen  into  the  lowest  state  of  vice,  pov- 
erty, and  disease.  Instead  of  harshly  upbraiding  her,  he 
had  her  taken  care  of  with  all  tenderness  for  a  long  time,  at 
considerable  expence,  till  she  was  restored  to  health,  and 
endeavoured  to  put  her  into  a  virtuous  way  of  living. 

He  once  in  his  life  was  known  to  have  uttered  what  is 
called  a  bull:  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  when  they  were  riding 
together  in  Devonshire,  complained  that  he  had  a  very  bad 
horse,  for  that  even  when  going  down  hill  he  moved  slowly 
step  by  step.  'Ay  (said  Johnson,)  and  when  he  goes  up  hill, 
he  stands  still.' 

He  had  a  great  aversion  to  gesticulating  in  company.  He 
■called  once  to  a  gentleman  who  offended  him  in  that  p)oint, 
*  Don't  attitiuienise.'    And  when  another  gentleman  thought 


1784]  JOHNSON  INCITES  A  RIOT  531 

he  was  giving  additional  force  to  what  he  uttered,  by  ex- 
pfessive  movements  of  his  hands,  Johnson  fairly  seized  them, 
and  held  them  down. 

Mr.  Steevens,  who  passed  many  a  social  hour  with  him 
during  their  long  acquaintance,  which  commenced  when 
they  both  lived  in  the  Temple,  has  preserved  a  good  number 
of  particulars  concerning  him,  most  of  which  are  to  be  found 
in  the  department  of  Apothegms,  &c.  in  the  Collection  of 
Johnson's  Works.  But  he  has  been  pleased  to  favour  me 
with  the  following,  which  are  original: — 

'Dr.  Johnson  once  assumed  a  character  in  which  perhaps 
even  Mr.  Boswell  never  saw  him.  His  curiosity  having  been 
excited  by  the  praises  bestowed  on  the  celebrated  Torre's 
fireworks  at  Marybone-Gardens,  he  desired  Mr.  Steevens  to 
accompany  him  thither.  The  evening  had  proved  showery; 
and  soon  after  the  few  people  present  were  assembled,  pub- 
lick  notice  was  given,  that  the  conductors  to  the  wheels, 
suns,  stars,  &c.,  were  so  thoroughly  water-soaked,  that  it 
was  impossible  any  part  of  the  exhibition  should  be  made. 
"This  is  a  mere  excuse,  (says  the  Doctor,)  to  save  their 
crackers  for  a  more  profitable  company.  Let  us  but  hold  up 
our  sticks,  and  threaten  to  break  those  coloured  lamps  that 
surround  the  Orchestra,  and  we  shall  soon  have  our  wishes 
gratified.  The. core  of  the  fireworks  cannot  be  injured;  let 
the  different  pieces  be  touched  in  their  respective  centers, 
and  they  will  do  their  offices  as  well  as  ever."  Some  young 
men  who  overheard  him,  immediately  began  the  violence 
he  had  recommended,  and  an  attempt  was  speedily  made 
to  fire  some  of  the  wheels  which  appeared  to  have  received 
the  smallest  damage;  but  to  little  purpose  were  they  lighted, 
for  most  of  them  completely  failed.  The  authour  of  The 
Rambler,  however,  may  be  considered,  on  this  occasion,  as 
the  ringleader  of  a  successful  riot,  though  not  as  a  skilful 
pyrotechnist.' 

'It  has  been  supposed  that  Dr.  Johnson,  so  far  as  fashion 
was  concerned,  was  careless  of  his  appearance  in  publick. 
But  this  is  not  altogether  true,  as  the  following  slight  instance 
may  show: — Goldsmith's  last  Comedy  was  to  be  represented 
during  some  court-mourning:    and  Mr.  Steevens  appointed 


532  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

to  call  on  Dr.  Johnson,  and  carry  him  to  the  tavern  where  he 
was  to  dine  with  others  of  the  Poet's  friends.  The  Doctor 
was  ready  dressed,  but  in  coloured  cloaths;  yet  being  told 
that  he  would  find  every  one  else  in  black,  received  the  in- 
telligence with  a  profusion  of  thanks,  hastened  to  change  his 
attire,  all  the  while  repeating  his  gratitude  for  the  informa- 
tion that  had  saved  him  from  an  appearance  so  improper  in 
the  front  row  of  a  front  box.  "I  would  not  (added  he,)  for 
ten  pounds,  have  seemed  so  retrograde  to  any  general  ob- 
servance." 

'He  would  sometimes  found  his  dislikes  on  very  slender 
circumstances.  Happening  one  day  to  mention  Mr.  Flex- 
man,  a  Dissenting  Minister,  with  some  compliment  to  his 
exact  memory  in  chronological  matters;  the  Doctor  replied, 
"Let  me  hear  no  more  of  him,  Sir.  That  is  the  fellow  who 
made  the  Index  to  my  Ramblers,  and  set  down  the  name  of 
Milton  thus:  Milton,  Mr.  John.'" 

In  the  course  of  this  work  a  numerous  variety  of  names 
has  been  mentioned,  to  which  many  might  be  added.  I  can- 
not omit  Lord  and  Lady  Lucan,  at  whose  house  he  often 
enjoyed  all  that  an  elegant  table  and  the  best  company  can 
contribute  to  happiness;  he  found  hospitality  united  with 
extraordinary  accomplishments,  and  embellished  with  charms 
of  which  no  man  could  be  insensible. 

On  Tuesday,  June  22,  I  dined  with  him  at  The  Literary 
Club,  the  last  time  of  his  being  in  that  respectable  society. 
The  other  members  present  were  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph, 
Lord  Eliot,  Lord  Palmerston,  Dr.  Fordyce,  and  Mr.  Malone. 
He  looked  ill;  but  had  such  a  manly  fortitude,  that  he  did 
not  trouble  the  company  with  melancholy  complaints.  They 
all  shewed  evident  marks  of  kind  concern  about  him,  with 
which  he  was  much  pleased,  and  he  exerted  himself  to  be  as 
entertaining  as  his  indisposition  allowed  him. 

The  anxiety  of  his  friends  to  preserve  so  estimable  a  life, 
as  long  as  human  means  might  be  supposed  to  have  influence, 
made  them  plan  for  him  a  retreat  from  the  severity  of  a 
British  winter,  to  the  mild  climate  of  Italy.  This  scheme 
was  at  last  brought  to  a  serious  resolution  at  General  Paoli's, 
where  I  had  often  talked  of  it.    One  essential  matter,  how- 


1784]  APPLICATION  TO  TmiRI^OW  533 

ever,  I  understood  was  necessary  to.be  previously  settled, 
which  was  obtaining  such  an  addition  to  his  income,  as 
would  be  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  defray  the  e^cpence  in  a 
manner  becoming  the  first  literary  character  of  a  great  nation, 
and  independent  of  all  his  other  merits,  the  Authour  of  The 
Dictionary  of  the  English  Language.  The  person  to 
whom  I  above  all  others  thought  I  should  apply  to  negociate 
this  business,  was  the  Lord  Chancellor,  because  I  knew  that 
he  highly  valued  Johnson,  and  that  Johnson  highly  valued 
his  Lordship;  so  that  it  was  no  degradation  of  my  illustrious 
friend  to  soUcit  for  him  the  favour  of  such  a  man.  I  have 
mentioned  what  Johnson  said  of  him  to  me  when  he  was  at 
the  bar;  and  after  his  Lordship  was  advanced  to  the  seals, 
he  said  of  him,  'I  would  prepare  myself  for  no  man  in  Eng- 
land but  Lord  Thurlow.  When  I  am  to  meet  with  him  I 
should  wish  to  know  a  day  before.'  How  he  would  have 
prepared  himself  I  cannot  conjecture.  Would  he  have  se- 
lected certain  topicks,  and  considered  them  in  every  view 
so  as  to  be  in  readiness  to  argue  them  at  all  points  ?  and  what 
may  we  suppose  those  topicks  to  have  been?  I  once  started 
the  curious  inquiry  to  the  great  man  who  was  the  subject 
of  this  compliment:  he  smiled,  but  did  not  pursue  it. 

I  first  consulted  with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  perfectly 
coincided  in  opinion  with  me;  and  I  therefore,  though  per- 
sonally very  little  known  to  his  Lordship,  wrote  to  him, 
stating  the  case,  and  requesting  his  good  offices  for  Dr.  John- 
son. I  mentioned  that  I  was  obliged  to  set  out  for  Scotland 
early  in  the  following  week,  so  that  if  his  Lordship  should 
have  any  commands  for  me  as  to  this  pious  negociation,  he 
would  be  pleased  to  send  them  before  that  time;  otherwise 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  would  give  all  attention  to  it. 

This  application  was  made  not  only  without  any  sugges- 
tion on  the  part  of  Johnson  himself,  but  was  utterly  unknown 
to  him,  nor  had  he  the  smallest  suspicion  of  it.  Any  insinua- 
tions, therefore,  which  since  his  death  have  been  thrown  out, 
as  if  he  had  stooped  to  ask  what  was  superfluous,  are  without 
any  foundation.  But,  had  he  asked  it,  it  would  not  have 
been  superfluous;  for  though  the  money  he  had  saved 
proved  to  be  more  than  his  friends  imagined,  or  than  I  be- 


534  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

lieve  he  himself,  in  his  carelessness  concerning  worldly  matters, 
knew  it  to  be,  had  he  travelled  upon  the  Continent,  an  aug- 
mentation of  his  income  would  by  no  means  have  been  un- 
necessary. 

On  Thursday,  June  24,  I  dined  with  him  at  Mr.  Dilly's, 
where  were  the  Rev.  Mr.  (now  Dr.)  Knox,  master  of  Tun- 
bridge-school,  Mr.  Smith,  Vicar  of  Southill,  Dr.  Beattie, 
Mr.  Pinkerton,  authour  of  various  literary  performances, 
and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Mayo.  At  my  desire  old  Mr.  Sheridan  was 
invited,  as  I  was  earnest  to  have  Johnson  and  him  brought 
together  again  by  chance,  that  a  reconciliation  might  be 
effected.  Mr.  Sheridan  happened  to  come  early,  and  having 
learned  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  to  be  there,  went  away;  so 
I  found,  with  sincere  regret,  that  my  friendly  intentions  were 
hopeless.  I  recollect  nothing  that  passed  this  day,  except 
Johnson's  quickness,  who,  when  Dr.  Beattie  observed,  as 
something  remarkable  which  had  happened  to  him,  that  he 
had  chanced  to  see  both  No.  1,  and  No.  1000,  of  the  hackney- 
coaches,  the  first  and  the  last;  'Why,  Sir,  (said  Johnson,) 
there  is  an  equal  chance  for  one's  seeing  those  two  numbers 
as  any  other  two.' 

On  Friday,  June  25,  I  dined  with  him  at  General  Paoli's, 
where,  he  says  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  I  love  to 
dine.'  There  was  a  variety  of  dishes  much  to  his  taste,  of 
all  which  he  seemed  to  me  to  eat  so  much,  that  I  was  afraid 
he  might  be  hurt  by  it;  and  I  whispered  to  the  General  my 
fear,  and  begged  he  might  not  press  him.  'Alas!  (said  the 
General,)  see  how  very  ill  he  looks;  he  can  live  but  a  very 
short  time.  Would  you  refuse  any  slight  gratifications  to  a 
man  under  sentence  of  death?  There  is  a  humane  custom 
in  Italy,  by  which  persons  in  that  melancholy  situation  are 
indulged  with  having  whatever  they  like  best  to  eat  and 
drink,  even  with  expensive  delicacies.' 

On  Sunday,  June  27,  I  found  him  rather  better.  I  men- 
tioned to  him  a  young  man  who  was  going  to  Jamaica  with 
his  wife  and  children,  in  expectation  of  being  provided  for  by 
two  of  her  brothers  settled  in  that  island,  one  a  clergyman, 
and  the  other  a  physician.  Johnson.  'It  is  a  wild  scheme. 
Sir,  unless  he  has  a  positive  and  deliberate  invitation.    There 


i;*4]  DINNER  AT  SIR  JOSHUA'S  535 

was  a  poor  girl,  who  used  to  come  about  me,  who  had  a 
cousin  in  Barbadoes,  that,  in  a  letter  to  her,  expressed  a 
wish  she  should  come  out  to  that  Island,  and  expatiated  on 
the  comforts  and  happiness  of  her  situation.  The  poor  girl 
went  out:  her  cousin  was  much  surprised,  and  asked  her 
how  she  could  think  of  coming.  "Because,  (said  she,)  you 
invited  me."  "Not  I,"  answered  the  cousin.  The  letter 
was  then  produced.  "I  see  it  is  true,  (said  she,)  that  I  did 
invite  you:  but  I  did  not  think  you  would  come."  They 
lodged  her  in  an  out-house,  where  she  passed  her  time  miser- 
ably; and  as  soon  as  she  had  an  opportunity  she  returned  to 
England.  Always  tell  this,  when  you  hear  of  people  going 
abroad  to  relations,  upon  a  notion  of  being  well  received. 
In  the  case  which  you  mention,  it  is  probable  the  clergyman 
spends  all  he  gets,  and  the  physician  does  not  know  how  much 
he  is  to  get.' 

We  this  day  dined  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's,  with  General 
Paoli,  Lord  Eliot,  (formerly  Mr.  Eliot,  of  Port  Eliot,)  Dr. 
Beattie,  and  some  other  company.  Talking  of  Lord  Ches- 
terfield;— Johnson.  'His  manner  was  exquisitely  elegant, 
and  he  had  more  knowledge  than  I  expected.'  Boswell. 
'Did  you  find,  Sir,  his  conversation  to  be  of  a  superiour 
style?'  Johnson.  'Sir,  in  the  conversation  which  I  had 
with  him  I  had  the  best  right  to  superiority,  for  it  was  upon 
philology  and  literature.'  Lord  Eliot,  who  had  travelled  at 
the  same  time  with  Mr.  Stanhope,  Lord  Chesterfield's  natural 
son,  justly  observed,  that  it  was  strange  that  a  man  who 
shewed  he  had  so  much  affection  for  his  son  as  Lord  Chester- 
field did,  by  writing  so  many  long  and  anxious  letters  to  him, 
almost  all  of  them  when  he  was  Secretary  of  State,  whicli 
certainly  was  a  proof  of  great  goodness  of  disposition,  should 
endeavour  to  make  his  son  a  rascal.  His  Lordship  told  us, 
that  Foote  had  intended  to  bring  on  the  stage  a  father  who 
had  thus  tutored  his  son,  and  to  shew  the  son  an  honest  man 
to  every  one  else,  but  practising  his  father's  maxims  upon 
him,  and  cheating  him.  Johnson,  'I  am  much  pleased 
with  this  design;  but  I  think  there  was  no  occasion  to  make 
the  son  honest  at  all.  No;  he  should  be  a  consummate 
rogue:  the  contrast  between  honesty  and  knavery  would  be 


536  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

the  stronger.  It  should  be  contrived  so  that  the  father  should 
be  the  only  sufferer  by  the  son's  villainy,  and  thus  there 
would  be  poetical  justice.' 

A  young  gentleman  present  took  up  the  argument  against 
him,  and  maintained  that  no  man  ever  thinks  of  the  nose  of 
the  mind,  not  adverting  that  though  that  figurative  sense 
seems  strange  to  us,  as  very  unusual,  it  is  truly  not  more 
forced  than  Hamlet's  'In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio.'  He  per- 
sisted much  too  long,  and  appeared  to  Johnson  as  putting 
himself  forward  as  his  antagonist  with  too  much  presump- 
tion; upon  which  he  called  to  him  in  a  loud  tone,  'What  is 
it  you  are  contending  for,  if  you  be  contending  ? '  And  after- 
wards imagining  that  the  gentleman  retorted  upon  him  with 
a  kind  of  smart  drollery,  he  said,  'Mr.  *****,  it  does  not  be- 
come you  to  talk  so  to  me.  Besides,  ridicule  is  not  your 
talent;  you  have  there  neither  intuition  nor  sagacity.'  The 
gentleman  protested  that  he  had  intended  no  improper  free- 
dom, but  had  the  greatest  respect  for  Dr.  Johnson.  After 
a  short  pause,  during  which  we  were  somewhat  uneasy, — 
Johnson.  '  Give  me  your  hand.  Sir.  You  were  too  tedious, 
and  I  was  too  short.'  Mr.  *****.  'Sir,  I  am  honoured  by 
your  attention  in  any  way.'  Johnson.  'Come,  Sir,  let's 
have  no  more  of  it.  We  offended  one  another  by  our  con- 
tention; let  us  not  offend  the  company  by  our  compli- 
ments.' 

He  now  said,  '  He  wished  much  to  go  to  Italy,  and  that  he 
dreaded  passing  the  winter  in  England.'  I  said  nothing;  but 
enjoyed  a  secret  satisfaction  in  thinking  that  I  had  taken  the 
most  effectual  measures  to  make  such  a  scheme  practicable. 

On  Monday,  June  28,  I  had  the  honour  to  receive  from  the 
Lord  Chancellor  the  following  letter: — 

'To  James  Boswell,  Esq. 

.  'Sir, — I  should  have  answered  your  letter  immediately,  if 
(being  much  engaged  when  I  received  it)  I  had  not  put  it  in 
my  pocket,  and  forgot  to  open  it  till  this  morning. 

'I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  suggestion;  and  I  will 
adopt  and  press  it  as  far  as  I  can.     The  best  argument,  I  am 


1784]  JOHNSON'S  EMOTION  537 

sure,  and  I  hope  it  is  not  likely  to  fail,  is  Dr.  Johnson's  merit. 
But  it  will  be  necessary,  if  I  should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to 
miss  seeing  you,  to  converse  with  Sir  Joshua  on  the  sum  it 
will  be  proper  to  ask, — in  short,  upon  the  means  of  setting 
him  out.  It  would  be  a  reflection  on  us  all,  if  such  a  man 
should  perish  for  want  of  the  means  to  take  care  of  his 
health.    Yours,  &c.  'Thurlow.' 

This  letter  gave  me  a  very  high  satisfaction;  I  next  day 
went  and  shewed  it  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  was  ex- 
ceedingly pleased  with  it.  He  thought  that  I  should  now 
communicate  the  negociation  to  Dr.  Johnson,  who  might 
afterwards  complain  if  the  attention  with  which  he  had  been 
honoured,  should  be  too  long  concealed  from  him.  I  in- 
tended to  set  out  for  Scotland  next  morning;  but  Sir  Joshua 
cordially  insisted  that  I  should  stay  another  day,  that  John- 
son and  I  might  dine  with  him,  that  we  three  might  talk  of 
his  Italian  Tour,  and,  as  Sir  Joshua  expressed  himself,  'have 
it  all  out.'  I  hastened  to  Johnson,  and  was  told  by  him  that 
he  was  rather  better  to-day.  Boswell.  '  I  am  very  anxious 
about  you.  Sir,  and  particularly  that  you  should  go  to  Italy 
for  the  winter,  which  I  believe  is  your  own  wish.'  Johnson. 
'It  is.  Sir.'  Boswell.  'You  have  no  objection,  I  presume, 
but  the  money  it  would  require.'  Johnson.  'Why,  no, 
Sir.'  Upon  which  I  gave  him  a  particular  account  of  what 
had  been  done,  and  read  to  him  the  Lord  Chancellor's  letter. 
He  listened  with  much  attention ;  then  warmly  said,  '  This  is 
taking  prodigious  pains  about  a  man.'  '0!  Sir,  (said  I, 
with  most  sincere  affection,)  your  friends  would  do  every 
thing  for  you.'  He  paused,  grew  more  and  more  agitated, 
till  tears  started  into  his  eyes,  and  he  exclaimed  with  fervent 
emotion,  'God  bless  you  all.'  I  was  so  affected  that  I  also 
shed  tears.  After  a  short  silence,  he  renewed  and  extended 
his  grateful  benediction,  'God  bless  you  all,  for  Jesus 
Christ's  sake.'  We  both  remained  for  some  time  unable  to 
speak.  He  rose  suddenly  and  quitted  the  room,  quite  melted 
in  tenderness.  He  staid  but  a  short  time,  till  he  had  re- 
covered his  firmness;  soon  after  he  returned  I  left  him, 
having  first  engaged  him  to  dine  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's, 


638  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

next  day.  I  never  was  again  under  that  roof  which  I  had  so 
long  reverenced. 

On  Wednesday,  June  30,  the  friendly  confidential  dinner 
with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  took  place,  no  other  company 
being  present.  Had  I  known  that  this  was  the  last  time 
that  I  should  enjoy  in  this  world,  the  conversation  of  a  friend 
whom  I  so  much  respected,  and  from  whom  I  derived  so 
much  instruction  and  entertainment,  I  should  have  been 
deeply  affected.  When  I  now  look  back  to  it,  I  am  vexed 
that  a  single  word  should  have  been  forgotten. 

Both  Sir  Joshua  and  I  were  so  sanguine  in  our  expectations, 
that  we  expatiated  with  confidence  on  the  liberal  provision 
which  we  were  sure  would  be  made  for  him,  conjecturing 
whether  munificence  would  be  displayed  in  one  large  dona- 
tion, or  in  an  ample  increase  of  his  pension.  He  himself 
catched  so  much  of  our  enthusiasm,  as  to  allow  himself  to 
suppose  it  not  impossible  that  our  hopes  might  in  one  way  or 
other  be  realised.  He  said  that  he  would  rather  have  his 
pension  doubled  than  a  grant  of  a  thousand  pounds;  'For, 
(said  he,)  though  probably  I  may  not  live  to  receive  as 
much  as  a  thousand  pounds,  a  man  would  have  the  con- 
sciousness that  he  should  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life  in 
splendour,  how  long  soever  it  might  be.'  Considering  what 
a  moderate  proportion  an  income  of  six  hundred  pounds 
a  year  bears  to  innumerable  fortunes  in  this  country,  it  is 
worthy  of  remark,  that  a  man  so  truly  great  should  think  it 
splendour. 

As  an  instance  of  extraordinary  liberality  of  friendship,  he 
told  us,  that  Dr.  Brocklesby  had  upon  this  occasion  offered 
him  a  hundred  a  year  for  his  life.  A  grateful  tear  started 
into  his  eye,  as  he  spoke  this  in  a  faultering  tone. 

Sir  Joshua  and  I  endeavoured  to  flatter  his  imagination 
with  agreeable  prospects  of  happiness  in  Italy.  'Nay,  (said 
he,)  I  must  not  expect  much  of  that;  when  a  man  goes  to 
Italy  merely  to  feel  how  he  breathes  the  air,  he  can  enjoy 
very  little.' 

Our  conversation  turned  upon  living  in  the  country,  which 
Johnson,  whose  melancholy  mind  required  the  dissipation  of 
quick  successive  variety,  had  habituated  himself  to  consider 


1784]  MRS.   THRALE'S  ENGAGEMENT  539 

as  a  kind  of  mental  imprisonment.  'Yet,  Sir,  (said  I,)  there 
are  many  people  who  are  content  to  live  in  the  country.' 
Johnson.  '  Sir,  it  is  in  the  intellectual  world  as  in  the  phys- 
ical world;  we  are  told  by  natural  philosophers  that  a  body 
is  at  rest  in  the  place  that  is  fit  for  it;  they  who  are  content 
to  live  in  the  country,  are  fit  for  the  country.' 

Talking  of  various  enjoyments,  I  argued  that  a  refinement 
of  taste  was  a  disadvantage,  as  they  who  have  attained  to  it 
must  be  seldomer  pleased  than  those  who  have  no  nice  dis- 
crimination, and  are  therefore  satisfied  with  every  thing  that 
comes  in  their  way.  Johnson.  'Nay,  Sir;  that  is  a  paltry 
notion.  Endeavour  to  be  as  perfect  as  you  can  in  every 
respect.' 

I  accompanied  him  in  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  coach,  to  the 
entry  of  Bolt-court.  He  asked  me  whether  I  would  not  go 
with  him  to  his  house;  I  declined  it,  from  an  apprehension 
that  my  spirits  would  sink.  We  bade  adieu  to  each  other 
affectionately  in  the  carriage.  When  he  had  got  down  upon 
the  foot-pavement,  he  called  out,  'Fare  you  well;'  and  with- 
out looking  back,  sprung  away  with  a  kind  of  pathetick 
briskness,  if  I  may  use  that  expression,  which  seemed  to 
indicate  a  struggle  to  conceal  uneasiness,  and  impressed  me 
with  a  foreboding  of  our  long,  long  separation. 

I  remained  one  day  more  in  town,  to  have  the  chance  of 
talking  over  my  negociation  with  the  Lord  Chancellor;  but 
the  multipUcity  of  his  Lordship's  important  engagements 
did  not  allow  of  it;  so  I  left  the  management  of  the  business 
in  the  hands  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

Soon  after  this  time  Dr.  Johnson  had  the  mortification  of 
being  informed  by  Mrs.  Thrale,  that,  'what  she  supposed  he 
never  believed,'  was  true;  namely,  that  she  was  actually 
going  to  marry  Signor  Piozzi,  an  Italian  musick-master.  He 
endeavoured  to  prevent  it;  but  in  vain.  If  she  would  pub- 
lish the  whole  of  the  correspondence  that  passed  between 
Dr.  Johnson  and  her  on  the  subject,  we  should  have  a  full 
view  of  his  real  sentiments.  As  it  is,  our  judgement  must  be 
biassed  by  that  characteristick  specimen  which  Sir  John 
Hawkins  has  given  us :  '  Poor  Thrale !  I  thought  that  either 
her  virtue  or  her  vice  would  have  restrained  her  from  such 


MO  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

a  marriage.  She  is  now  become  a  subject  for  her  enemies  to 
exult  over;  and  for  her  friends,  if  she  has  any  left,  to  forget, 
or  pity.' 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Johnson  derived  a  considerable 
portion  of  happiness  from  the  comforts  and  elegancies  which 
he  enjoyed  in  Mr.  Thrale's  family;  but  Mrs.  Thrale  assures 
us  he  was  indebted  for  these  to  her  husband  alone,  who  cer- 
tainly respected  him  sincerely. 

Having  left  the  pious  negociation,  as  I  called  it,  in  the  best 
hands,  I  shall  here  insert  what  relates  to  it.  Johnson  wrote 
to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  on  July  6,  as  follows: — 

'I  am  going,  I  hope,  in  a  few  days,  to  try  the  air  of  Derby- 
shire, but  hope  to  see  you  before  I  go.  Let  me,  however, 
mention  to  you  what  I  have  much  at  heart.  If  the  Chan- 
cellor should  continue  his  attention  to  Mr.  Boswell's  request, 
and  confer  with  you  on  the  means  of  relieving  my  languid 
state,  I  am  very  desirous  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  asking 
money  upon  false  pretences.  I  desire  you  to  represent  to 
his  Lordship,  what,  as  soon  as  it  is  suggested,  he  will  per- 
ceive to  be  reasonable, — That,  if  I  grow  much  worse,  I  shall 
be  afraid  to  leave  my  physicians,  to  suffer  the  inconveniences 
of  travel,  and  pine  in  the  solitude  of  a  foreign  country;  That, 
if  I  grow  much  better,  of  which  indeed  there  is  now  little 
appearance,  I  shall  not  wish  to  leave  my  friends  and  my 
domestick  comforts;  for  I  do  not  travel  for  pleasure  or 
curiosity;  yet  if  I  should  recover,  curiosity  would  revive. 
In  my  present  state,  I  am  desirous  to  make  a  struggle  for  a 
little  longer  life,  and  hope  to  obtain  some  help  from  a  softer 
climate.     Do  for  me  what  you  can.' 

By  a  letter  from  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  I  was  informed,  that 
the  Lord  Chancellor  had  called  on  him,  and  acquainted  him 
that  the  application  had  not  been  successful;  but  that  his 
Lordship,  after  speaking  highly  in  praise  of  Johnson,  as  a 
man  who  was  an  honour  to  his  country,  desired  Sir  Joshua  to 
let  him  know,  that  on  granting  a  mortgage  of  his  pension,  he 
should  draw  on  his  Lordship  to  the  amount  of  five  or  six 
hundred  pounds;  and  that  his  Lordship  explained  the 
meaning  of  the  mortgage  to  be,  that  he  wished  the  business 
to  be  conducted  in  such  a  manner,  that  Dr.  Johnson  should 


1784]  JOHNSON'S  REPLY  541 

appear  to  be  under  the  least  possible  obligation.  Sir  Joshua 
mentioned,  that  he  had  by  the  same  post  communicated  all 
this  to  Dr.  Johnson.  ' 

How  Johnson  was  affected  upon  the  occasion  will  appear 
from  what  he  wrote  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds: — 

'Ashbourne,  Sept.  9.  Many  words  I  hope  are  not  neces- 
sary between  you  and  me,  to  convince  you  what  gratitude  is. 
excited  in  my  heart  by  the  Chancellor's  liberality,  and  your 
kind  offices.  .  .  . 

'I  have  enclosed  a  letter  to  the  Chancellor,  which,  when 
you  have  read  it,  you  will  be  pleased  to  seal  with  a  head, 
or  any  other  general  seal,  and  convey  it  to  him:  had  I  sent 
it  directly  to  him,  I  should  have  seemed  to  overlook  the 
favour  of  yoiu-  intervention.' 

'To  THE  Lord  High  Chancellor. 

'My  Lord, — ^After  a  long  and  not  inattentive  observation 
of  mankind,  the  generosity  of  your  Lordship's  offer  raises  in 
me  not  less  wonder  than  gratitude.  Bounty,  so  liberally 
bestowed,  I  should  gladly  receive,  if  my  condition  made  it 
necessary;  for,  to  such  a  mind,  who  would  not  be  proud  to 
own  his  obligations?  But  it  has  pleased  God  to  restore  me 
to  so  great  a  measure  of  health,  that  if  I  should  now  appro- 
priate so  much  of  a  fortune  destined  to  do  good,  I  could  not 
escape  from  myself  the  charge  of  advancing  a  false  claim. 
My  journey  to  the  continent,  though  I  once  thought  it  neces- 
sary, was  never  much  encouraged  by  my  physicians;  and 
I  was  very  desirous  that  your  Lordship  should  be  told  of  it 
by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  as  an  event  very  uncertain;  for  if 
I  grew  much  better,  I  should  not  be  willing,  if  much  worse, 
not  able,  to  migrate.  Your  Lordship  was  first  solicited  with- 
out my  knowledge;  but,  when  I  was  told  that  you  were 
pleased  to  honour  me  with  your  patronage,  I  did  not  expect 
to  hear  of  a  refusal;  yet,  as  I  have  had  no  long  time  to  brood 
hope,  and  have  not  rioted  in  imaginary  opulence,  this  cold 
reception  has  been  scarce  a  disappointment;  and,  from  your 
Lordship's  kindness,  I  have  received  a  benefit,  which  only 
men  like  you  are  able  to  bestow.     I  shall  now  live  mihi  carior^ 


542  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

with  a  higher  opinion  of  my  own  merit.  I  am,  my  Lord, 
your  Lordship's  most  obliged,  most  grateful,  and  most  hum- 
ble servant, 

'September,  1784.'  *Sam.  Johnson.' 

Upon  this  unexpected  failure  I  abstain  from  presuming  to 
make  any  remarks,  or  to  offer  any  conjectures. 

Let  us  now  contemplate  Johnson  thirty  years  after  the 
death  of  his  wife,  still  retaining  for  her  all  the  tenderness  of 
affection. 

'To  THE  Reverend  Mr.  Bagshaw,  at  Bromley. 

'Sir, — Perhaps  you  may  remember,  that  in  the  year  1753, 
you  committed  to  the  ground  my  dear  wife.  I  now  entreat 
your  permission  to  lay  a  stone  up)on  her;  and  have  sent  the 
inscription,  that,  if  you  find  it  proper,  you  may  signify  your 
allowance. 

'  You  will  do  me  a  great  favour  by  showing  the  place  where 
she  lies,  that  the  stone  may  protect  her  remains. 

'Mr.  Ryland  will  wait  on  you  for  the  inscription,  and 
procure  it  to  be  engraved.  You  will  easily  believe  that  I 
shrink  from  this  mournful  office.  When  it  is  done,  if  I  have 
strength  remaining,  I  will  visit  Bromley  once  again,  and 
pay  you  part  of  the  respect  to  which  you  have  a  right  from. 
Reverend  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'July  12,  1784.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

Next  day  he  set  out  on  a  jaunt  to  Staffordshire  and  Derby- 
shire, flattering  himself  that  he  might  be  in  some  degree 
relieved. 

During  his  absence  from  London  he  kept  up  a  corre- 
spondence with  several  of  his  friends,  from  which  I  shall 
select  what  appears  to  me  proper  for  publication,  without 
attending  nicely  to  chronological  order. 

To  Dr.  Brocklesby,  he  writes,  Ashbourne,  Sept.  9: — 

*  Do  you  know  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Devonshire  ?  And 
have  you  ever  seen  Chatsworth?     I  was  at  Chatsworth  on 


1784]  LETTERS  TO   DR.   BROCKLESBY  543 

Monday:  I  had  indeed  seen  it  before,  but  never  when  its 
owners  were  at  home;  I  was  very  kindly  received,  and  hon- 
estly pressed  to  stay:  but  I  told  them  that  a  sick  man  is 
not  a  fit  inmate  of  a  great  house.  But  I  hope  to  go  again 
some  time.' 

Sept.  11.  'I  think  nothing  grows  worse,  but  all  rather 
better,  except  sleep,  and  that  of  late  has  been  at  its  old 
pranks.  Last  evening,  I  felt  what  I  had  not  known  for  a 
long  time,  an  inclination  to  walk  for  amusement;  I  took  a 
short  walk,  and  came  back  again  neither  breathless  nor 
fatigued.  This  has  been  a  gloomy,  frigid,  ungenial  summer, 
but  of  late  it  seems  to  mend;  I  hear  the  heat  sometimes 
mentioned,  but  I  do  not  feel  it: 

"  PrcEterea  minimus  gelido  jam  in  cor  pore  sanguis 
Febre  calet  sold. " 

I  hope,  however,  with  good  help,  to  find  means  of  supporting 
a  winter  at  home,  and  to  hear  and  tell  at  the  Club  what  is 
doing,  and  what  ought  to  be  doing  in  the  world.  I  have  no 
company  here,  and  shall  naturally  come  home  hungry  for 
conversation.  To  wish  you,  dear  Sir,  more  leisure,  would 
not  be  kind;  but  what  leisure  you  have,  you  must  bestow 
upon  me.' 

Lichfield,  Sept.  29.  'On  one  day  I  had  three  letters  about 
the  air-balloon:  yours  was  far  the  best,  and  has  enabled  me 
to  impart  to  my  friends  in  the  country  an  idea  of  this  species 
of  amusement.  In  amusement,  mere  amusement,  I  am 
afraid  it  must  end,  for  I  do  not  find  that  its  course  can  be 
directed  so  as  that  it  should  serve  any  purposes  of  communi- 
cation; and  it  can  give  no  new  intelligence  of  the  state  of  the 
air  at  different  heights,  till  they  have  ascended  above  the 
height  of  mountains,  which  they  seeni  never  likely  to  do. 
I  came  hither  on  the  27th.  How  long  I  shall  stay  I  have  not 
determined.  My  dropsy  is  gone,  and  my  asthma  much  re- 
mitted, but  I  have  felt  myself  a  little  declining  these  two 
days,  or  at  least  to-day;  but  such  vicissitudes  must  be  ex- 
pected. One  day  may  be  worse  than  another;  but  this  last 
month  is  far  better  than  the  former;   if  the  next  should  be 


544  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

as  much  better  than  this,  I  shall  run  about  the  town  on  my 
own  legs.' 

October  25.  'You  write  to  me  with  a  zeal  that  animates, 
and  a  tenderness  that  melts  me.  I  am  not  afraid  either  of 
a  journey  to  London,  or  a  residence  in  it.  I  came  down  with 
little  fatigue,  and  am  now  not  weaker.  In  the  smoky  atmos- 
phere I  was  delivered  from  the  dropsy,  which  I  consider  as 
the  original  and  radical  disease.  The  town  is  my  element  ^; 
there  are  my  friends,  there  are  my  books,  to  which  I  have 
not  yet  bid  farewell,  and  there  are  my  amusements.  Sir 
Joshua  told  me  long  ago  that  my  vocation  was  to  publick 
life,  and  I  hope  still  to  keep  my  station,  till  God  shall  bid 
me  Go  in  -peace. ^ 

To  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds: — 

Ashbourne,  Sept.  2.  '.  .  .  I  still  continue  by  God's 
mercy  to  mend.  My  breath  is  easier,  my  nights  are  quieter, 
and  my  legs  are  less  in  bulk,  and  stronger  in  use.  I  have, 
however,  yet  a  great  deal  to  overcome,  before  I  can  yet  at- 
tain even  an  old  man's  health.  Write,  do  write  to  me  now 
and  then;  we  are  now  old  acquaintance,  and  perhaps  few 
people  have  lived  so  much  and  so  long  together,  with  less 
cause  of  complaint  on  either  side.  The  retrospection  of  this 
is  very  pleasant,  and  I  hope  we  shall  never  think  on  each 
other  with  less  kindness.' 

Sept.  9.  'I  could  not  answer  your  letter  before  this  day, 
because  I  went  on  the  sixth  to  Chatsworth,  and  did  not  come 
back  till  the  post  was  gone.  Many  words,  I  hope,  are  not 
necessary  between  you  and  me,  to  convince  you  what  grati- 
tude is  excited  in  my  heart,  by  the  Chancellor's  liberality 

>  His  love  of  London  continually  appears.  In  a  letter  trora  him  to 
Mrs.  Smart,  wife  of  his  friend  the  Poet,  which  is  published  in  a  well- 
written  life  of  him,  prefixed  to  an  edition  of  his  Poems,  in  1791,  there 
is  the  following  sentence: — 'To  one  that  has  passed  so  many  years  in 
the  pleasures  and  opulence  of  London,  there  are  few  places  that  can 
give  much  delight.' 

Once,  upon  reading  that  line  in  the  curioiis  epitaph  quoted  in  The 
Spectator, 

'  Bom  in  New-England,  did  in  London  die;' 
he  laughed  and  said,  'I  do  not  wonder  at  this.     It  would  have  been 
strange,  if  bom  in  London,  he  had  died  in  New-England.' — Boswell. 


1784]  LETTERS  TO  SIR  JOSHUA  545 

and  your  kind  offices.  I  did  not  indeed  expect  that  what 
was  asked  by  the  Chancellor  would  have  been  refused,  but 
since  it  has,  we  will  not  tell  that  any  thing  has  been  asked. 
I  have  enclosed  a  letter  to  the  Chancellor  which,  when  you 
have  read  it,  you  will  be  pleased  to  seal  with  a  head,  or  other 
general  seal,  and  convey  it  to  him;  had  I  sent  it  directly  to 
him,  I  should  have  seemed  to  overlook  the  favour  of  your 
intervention.  I  do  not  despair  of  supporting  an  Eng- 
lish winter.  At  Chatsworth,  I  met  young  Mr.  Burke,  who 
led  me  very  commodiously  into  conversation  with  the  Duke 
and  Duchess.  We  had  a  very  good  morning.  The  dinner 
was  publick.' 

Sept.  18.  'I  have  three  letters  this  day,  all  about  the 
balloon,  I  could  have  been  content  with  one.  Do  not  write 
about  the  balloon,  whatever  else  you  may  think  proper  to 
say.' 

It  may  be  observed,  that  his  writing  in  every  way,  whether 
for  the  publick,  or  privately  to  his  friends,  was  by  fits  and 
starts;  for  we  see  frequently,  that  many  letters  are  written 
on  the  same  day.  When  he  had  once  overcome  his  aversion 
to  begin,  he  was,  I  suppose,  desirous  to  go  on,  in  order  to 
relieve  his  mind  from  the  uneasy  reflection  of  delaying  what 
he  ought  to  do. 

We  now  behold  Johnson  for  the  last  time,  in  his  native  city, 
for  which  he  ever  retained  a  warm  affection,  and  which,  by 
a  sudden  apostrophe,  under  the  word  Lich,  he  introduces 
with  reverence,  into  his  immortal  Work,  The  English 
Dictionary: — Salve,  magna  parens!  While  here,  he  felt  a 
revival  of  all  the  tenderness  of  filial  affection,  an  instance 
of  which  appeared  in  his  ordering  the  grave-stone  and  in- 
scription over  Elizabeth  Blaney^  to  be  substantially  and 
carefully  renewed. 

To  Mr.  Henry  White,  a  young  clergyman,  with  whom  he 
now  formed  an  intimacy,  so  as  to  talk  to  him  with  great  free- 
dom, he  mentioned  that  he  could  not  in  general  accuse  him- 
self of  having  been  an  undutiful  son.  'Once,  indeed,  (said 
he,)  I  was  disobedient;  I  refused  to  attend  my  father  to 
Uttoxeter-market.     Pride  was  the  source  of  that  refusal, 

1  His  mother. — Ed. 


546  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

and  the  remembrance  of  it  was  painful.  A  few  years  ago, 
I  desired  to  atone  for  this  fault ;  I  went  to  Uttoxeter  in  very 
bad  weather,  and  stood  for  a  considerable  time  bareheaded 
in  the  rain,  on  the  spot  where  my  father's  stall  used  to 
stand.  In  contrition  I  stood,  and  I  hope  the  penance  was 
expiatory.' 

'I  told  him  (says  Miss  Seward)  in  one  of  my  latest  visits 
to  him,  of  a  wonderful  learned  pig,  which  I  had  seen  at 
Nottingham;  and  which  did  all  that  we  have  observed  ex- 
hibited by  dogs  and  horses.  The  subject  amused  him. 
"Then,  (said  he,)  the  pigs  are  a  race  unjustly  calumniated. 
Pig  has,  it  seems,  not  been  wanting  to  man,  but  man  to  -pig. 
We  do  not  allow  tim^  for  his  education,  we  kill  him  at  a 
year  old."  Mr.  Henry  White,  who  was  present,  observed 
that  if  this  instance  had  happened  in  or  before  Pope's  time, 
he  would  not  have  been  justified  in  instancing  the  swine  as 
the  lowest  degree  of  groveling  instinct.  Dr.  Johnson  seemed 
pleased  with  the  observation,  while  the  person  who  made 
it  proceeded  to  remark,  that  great  torture  must  have  been 
employed,  ere  the  indocility  of  the  animal  could  have  been 
subdued.  "Certainly,  (said  the  Doctor;)  but,  (turning  to 
me,)  how  old  is  your  pig?"  I  told  him,  three  years  old. 
"Then,  (said  he,)  the  pig  has  no  cause  to  complain;  he  would 
have  been  killed  the  first  year  if  he  had  not  been  educated, 
and  protracted  existence  is  a  good  recompence  for  very  con- 
siderable degrees  of  torture."  ' 

As  Johnson  had  now  very  faint  hopes  of  recovery,  and  as 
Mrs.  Thrale  was  no  longer  devoted  to  him,  it  might  have 
been  supposed  that  he  would  naturally  have  chosen  to  re- 
main in  the  comfortable  house  of  his  l)eloved  wife's  daughter, 
and  end  his  life  where  he  began  it.  But  there  was  in  him  an 
animated  and  lofty  spirit,  and  however  complicated  diseases 
might  depress  ordinary  mortals,  all  who  saw  him,  beheld  and 
acknowledged  the  invidum  animum  Catonis.  Such  was  his 
intellectual  ardour  even  at  this  time,  that  he  said  to  one 
friend,  'Sir,  I  look  upon  every  day  to  be  lost,  in  which  I  do 
not  make  a  new  acquaintance;'  and  to  another,  when  talk- 
ing of  his  illness,  'I  will  be  conquered;  I  will  not  capitulate.* 
And  such  was  his  love  of  London,  so  high  a  relish  had  he  of 


1784]  HIS  LOFTY  SPIRIT  547 

its  magnificent  extent,  and  variety  of  intellectual  entertain- 
ment, that  he  languished  when  absent  from  it,  his  mind 
having  become  quite  luxurious  from  the  long  habit  of  en- 
joying the  metropolis;  and,  therefore,  although  at  Lichfield, 
surrounded  with  friends,  who  loved  and  revered  him,  and 
for  whom  he  had  a  very  sincere  affection,  he  still  found  that 
such  conversation  as  London  affords,  could  be  found  no 
where  else.  These  feelings,  joined,  probably,  to  some  flat- 
tering hopes  of  aid  from  the  eminent  physicians  and  sur- 
geons in  London,  who  kindly  and  generously  attended  him 
without  accepting  fees,  made  him  resolve  to  return  to  the 
capital. 

From  Lichfield  he  came  to  Birmingham,  where  he  passed 
a  few  days  with  his  worthy  old  schoolfellow,  Mr.  Hector,  who 
thus  writes  to  me: — 'He  was  very  solicitous  with  me  to 
recollect  some  of  our  most  early  transactions,  and  transmit 
them  to  him,  for  I  perceive  nothing  gave  him  greater  pleasure 
than  calling  to  mind  those  days  of  our  innocence.  I  com- 
plied with  his  request,  and  he  only  received  them  a  few  days 
before  his  death.  I  have  transcribed  for  your  inspection, 
exactly  the  minutes  I  wrote  to  him.'  This  paper  having 
been  found  in  his  repositories  after  his  death.  Sir  John  Haw- 
kins has  inserted  it  entire,  and  I  have  made  occasional  use  of 
it  and  other  communications  from  Mr.  Hector,  in  the  course 
of  this  Work.  I  have  both  visited  and  corresponded  with 
him  since  Dr.  Johnson's  death,  and  by  my  inquiries  con- 
cerning a  great  variety  of  particulars  have  obtained  addi- 
tional information.  I  followed  the  same  mode  with  the 
Reverend  Dr.  Taylor,  in  whose  presence  I  wrote  down  a 
good  deal  of  what  he  could  tell;  and  he,  at  my  request, 
signed  his  name,  to  give  it  authenticity.  It  is  very  rare  to 
find  any  person  who  is  able  to  give  a  distinct  account  of  the 
life  even  of  one  whom  he  has  known  intimately,  without 
questions  being  put  to  them.  My  friend  Dr.  Kippis  has 
told  me,  that  on  this  account  it  is  a  practice  with  him  to  draw 
out  a  biographical  catechism. 

Johnson  then  proceeded  to  Oxford,  where  he  was  again 
kindly  received  by  Dr.  Adams. 

He  arrived  in  London  on  the  16th  of  November,  and  next 


548  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [1784 

day  sent  to  Dr.  Burney  the  following  note,  which  I  insert  aa 
the  last  token  of  his  remembrance  of  that  ingenious  and 
amiable  man,  and  as  another  of  the  many  proofs  of  the  ten- 
derness  and  benignity  of  his  heart: — 

'Mr.  Johnson,  who  came  home  last  night,  sends  his  re- 
spects to  dear  Dr.  Burney,  and  all  the  dear  Burneys,  little 
and  great.' 

Having  written  to  him,  in  bad  spirits,  a  letter  filled  with 
dejection  and  fretfulness,  and  at  the  same  time  expressing 
anxious  apprehensions  concerning  him,  on  account  of  a 
dream  which  had  disturbed  me;  his  answer  was  chiefly  in 
terms  of  reproach,  for  a  suppHDsed  charge  of  'affecting  dis- 
content, and  indulging  the  vanity  of  complaint.'  It,  how- 
ever, proceeded, — 

'Write  to  me  often,  and  write  like  a  man.  I  consider  your 
fidelity  and  tenderness  as  a  great  part  of  the  comforts  which 
are  yet  left  me,  and  sincerely  wish  we  could  be  nearer  to  each 
other.  .  .  .  My  dear  friend,  life  is  very  short  and  very 
uncertain;  let  us  spend  it  as  well  as  we  can.  My  worthy 
neighbour,  Allen,  is  dead.  Love  me  as  well  as  you  can. 
Pay  my  respects  to  dear  Mrs.  Boswell.  Nothing  ailed  me 
at  that  time;  let  your  superstition  at  last  have  an  end.' 

Feeling  very  soon,  that  the  manner  in  which  he  had  written 
might  hurt  me,  he  two  days  afterwards,  July  28,  wrote  to  me 
again,  giving  me  an  account  of  his  sufferings;  after  which, 
he  thus  proceeds: — 

'Before  this  letter,  you  wiU  have  had  one  which  I  hope 
you  will  not  take  amiss;  for  it  contains  only  truth,  and  that 
truth  kindly  intended.  .  .  .  Spartam  quant  nactxis  es  oma ; 
make  the  most  and  best  of  your  lot,  and  compare  yourself 
not  with  the  few  that  are  above  you,  but  with  the  multitudes 
which  are  below  you.' 

Yet  it  was  not  a  little  painful  to  me  to  find,  that  ...  he 
still  persevered  in  arraigning  me  as  before,  which  was  strange 
in  him  who  had  so  much  experience  of  what  I  suffered.  I, 
however,  wrote  to  him  two  as  kind  letters  as  I  could;  the 
last  of  which  came  too  late  to  be  read  by  him,  for  his  illness 
encreased  more  rapidly  upon  him  than  I  had  apprehended; 
but  I  had  the  consolation  of  being  informed  that  he  spoke  of 


1784]  KNOWLEDGE  OF  GREEK  549 

me  on  his  death-bed,  with  affection,  and  I  look  forward  with 
humble  hope  of  renewing  our  friendship  in  a  better  world. 

Soon  after  Johnson's  return  to  the  metropolis,  both  the 
asthma  and  dropsy  became  more  violent  and  distressful. 

During  his  sleepless  nights  he  amused  himself  by  trans- 
lating into  Latin  verse,  from  the  Greek,  many  of  the  epi- 
grams in  the  Anthologia.  These  translations,  with  some 
other  poems  by  him  in  Latin,  he  gave  to  his  friend  Mr.  Lang- 
ton,  who,  having  added  a  few  notes,  sold  them  to  the  book- 
sellers for  a  small  sum,  to  be  given  to  some  of  Johnson's 
relations,  which  was  accordingly  done;  and  they  are  printed 
in  the  collection  of  his  works. 

A  very  erroneous  notion  has  circulated  as  to  Johnson's 
deficiency  in  the  knowledge  of  the  Greek  language,  partly 
owing  to  the  modesty  with  which,  from  knowing  how  much 
there  was  to  be  learnt,  he  used  to  mention  his  own  compara- 
tive acquisitions.  When  Mr.  Cumberland  talked  to  him  of 
the  Greek  fragments  which  are  so  well  illustrated  in  The 
Observer,  and  of  the  Greek  dramatists  in  general,  he  candidly 
acknowledged  his  insufficiency  in  that  particular  branch  of 
Greek  literature.  Yet  it  may  be  said,  that  though  not  a 
great,  he  was  a  good  Greek  scholar.  Dr.  Charles  Burney, 
the  younger,  who  is  universally  acknowledged  by  the  best 
judges  to  be  one  of  the  few  men  of  this  age  who  are  very 
eminent  for  their  skill  in  that  noble  language,  has  assured 
me,  that  Johnson  could  give  a  Greek  word  for  almost  every 
English  one;  and  that  although  not  sufficiently  conversant 
in  the  niceties  of  the  language,  he  upon  some  occasions  dis- 
covered, even  in  these,  a  considerable  degree  of  critical 
acumen.  Mr.  Dalzel,  Professor  of  Greek  at  Edinburgh, 
whose  skill  in  it  is  unquestionable,  mentioned  to  me,  in  very 
liberal  terms,  the  impression  which  was  made  upon  him  by 
Johnson,  in  a  conversation  which  they  had  in  London  con- 
cerning that  language.  As  Johnson,  therefore,  was  undoubt- 
edly one  of  the  first  Latin  scholars  in  modern  times,  let  us 
not  deny  to  his  fame  some  additional  splendour  from  Greek. 

The  ludicrous  imitators  of  Johnson's  style  are  innumer- 
able.   Their  general  method  is  to  accumulate  hard  words, 


550  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

without  considering,  that,  although  he  was  fond  of  intro- 
ducing them  occasionally,  there  is  not  a  single  sentence  in  all 
his  writings  where  they  are  crowded  together,  as  in  the  first 
verse  of  the  following  imaginary  Ode  by  him  to  Mrs.  Thrale, 
which  app)eared  in  the  newspapers: — 

'Cervisial  coclor's  viduaie  dame, 
Opin'st  thou  this  gigantick  frame, 

ProcumMng  at  thy  shrine: 
Shall,  catenated  by  thy  charms, 
A  captire  in  thy  ambient  arms. 

Perennially  be  thine?' 

This,  and  a  thousand  other  such  attempts,  are  totally  un- 
like the  original,  which  the  writers  imagined  they  were  turn- 
ing into  ridicule.  There  is  not  similarity  enough  for  bur- 
lesque, or  even  for  caricature. 

'To  Me.  Green,  Apothecary,  at  Lichfield. 

'Dear  Sir, — I  have  enclosed  the  Epitaph  for  my  Father, 
Mother,  and  Brother,  to  be  all  engraved  on  the  large  size, 
and  laid  in  the  middle  aisle  in  St.  Michael's  church,  which 
I  request  the  clergyman  and  churchwardens  to  permit. 

'The  first  care  must  be  to  find  the  exact  place  of  inter- 
ment, that  the  stone  may  protect  the  bodies.  Then  let  the 
stone  be  deep,  massy,  and  hard;  and  do  not  let  the  differ- 
ence of  ten  pounds,  or  more,  defeat  our  purpose. 

'I  have  enclosed  ten  pounds,  and  Mrs.  Porter  will  pay 
you  ten  more,  which  I  gave  her  for  the  same  purpose.  What 
more  is  wanted  shall  be  sent;  and  I  beg  that  all  possible 
haste  may  be  made,  for  I  wish  to  have  it  done  while  I  am  yet 
alive.  Let  me  know,  dear  Sir,  that  you  receive  this.  I  am. 
Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'Dec.  2,  1784.'  'Sam.  Johnson.' 

Death  had  always  been  to  him  an  object  of  terrour;  so 
that,  though  by  no  means  happy,  he  still  clung  to  life  with 
an  eagerness  at  which  many  have  wondered.  At  any  time 
when  he  was  ill,  he  was  very  much  pleased  to  be  told  that  he 
looked  better.    An  ingenious  member  of  the  Eumelian  Club, 


17841  HIS  COURAGE  551 

informs  me,  that  upon  one  occasion  when  he  said  to  him 
that  he  saw  health  returning  to  his  cheek,  Johnson  seized 
him  by  the  hand  and  exclaimed,  'Sir,  you  are  one  of  the 
kindest  friends  I  ever  had.' 

Dr.  Heberden,  Dr.  Brocklesby,  Dr.  Warren,  and  Dr.  But- 
ter, physicians,  generously  attended  him,  without  accepting 
any  fees,  as  did  Mr.  Cruikshank,  surgeon;  and  all  that  could 
be  done  from  professional  skill  and  ability,  was  tried,  to 
prolong  a  life  so  truly  valuable.  He  himself,  indeed,  having, 
on  account  of  his  very  bad  constitution,  been  perpetually 
applying  himself  to  medical  inquiries,  united  his  own  effort^ 
with  those  of  the  gentlemen  who  attended  him;  and  imagin- 
ing that  the  dropsical  collection  of  water  which  oppressed 
him  might  be  drawn  off  by  making  incisions  in  his  body,  he, 
with  his  usual  resolute  defiance  of  pain,  cut  deep,  when  he 
thought  that  his  surgeon  had  done  it  too  tenderly.^ 

About  eight  or  ten  days  before  his  death,  when  Dr.  Brock- 
lesby paid  him  his  morning  visit,  he  seemed  very  low  and 
desponding,  and  said,  'I  have  been  as  a  dying  man  all  night.' 
He  then  emphatically  broke  out  in  the  words  of  Shakspeare : — 

'Can'st  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseas'd; 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow; 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain; 
And,  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote, 
Cleanse  the  stuff' d  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff. 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ? ' 

To  which  Dr.  Brocklesby  readily  answered,  from  the  same 
great  poet: — 

* therein  the  patient 


Must  minister  to  himself.' 

Johnson  expressed  himself  much  satisfied  with  the  appli- 
cation. 

1  This  bold  experiment,  Sir  John  Hawkins  has  related  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  suggest  a  charge  against  Johnson  of  intentionally  hastening  his 
end ;  a  charge  so  very  inconsistent  with  his  character  in  every  respect, 
that  it  is  Injurious  even  to  refute  it,  as  Sir  John  has  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  do.  It  is  evident,  that  what  Johnson  did  in  hopes  of  relief, 
Indicated  an  extraordinary  eagerness  to  retard  his  dissolution. — Bos- 


552  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

On  another  day  after  this,  when  talking  on  the  subject  of 
prayer,  Dr.  Brocklesby  repeated  from  Juvenal, — 

'Orandum  est,  ut  sit  mens  sana  in  corpore  sano,^ 

and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  tenth  satire;  but  in  running  it 
quickly  over,  he  happened,  in  the  line, 

'Qui  spatium  vitce  extremum  inter  munera  ponat,' 

to  pronounce  supremum  for  extremum;  at  which  Johnson's 
critical  ear  instantly  took  offence,  and  discoursing  .vehe- 
mently on  the  unmetrical  effect  of  such  a  lapse,  he  shewed 
himself  as  full  as  ever  of  the  spirit  of  the  grammarian. 

Having  no  near  relations,  it  had  been  for  some  time  John- 
son's intention  to  make  a  liberal  provision  for  his  faithful 
servant,  Mr.  Francis  Barber,  whom  he  looked  upon  as  par- 
ticularly under  his  protection,  and  whom  he  had  all  along 
treated  truly  as  an  humble  friend.  Having  asked  Dr. 
Brocklesby  what  would  be  a  proper  annuity  to  a  favourite 
servant,  and  being  answered  that  it  must  depend  on  the 
circumstances  of  the  master;  and,  that  in  the  case  of  a  noble- 
man, fifty  pounds  a  year  was  considered  as  an  adequate 
reward  for  many  years'  faithful  service;  'Then,  (said  John- 
son,) shall  I  be  nobilissimus,  for  I  mean  to  leave  Frank 
seventy  pounds  a  year,  and  I  desire  you  to  tell  him  so.'  It 
is  strange,  however,  to  think,  that  Johnson  was  not  free  from 
that  general  weakness  of  being  averse  to  execute  a  will,  so 
that  he  delayed  it  from  time  to  time;  and  had  it  not  been 
for  Sir  John  Hawkins's  repeatedly  urging  it,  I  think  it  is 
probable  that  his  kind  resolution  would  not  have  been  ful- 
filled. After  making  one,  which,  as  Sir  John  Hawkins  in- 
forms us,  extended  no  further  than  the  promised  annuity, 
Johnson's  final  disposition  of  his  property  was  established  by 
a  Will  and  Codicil. 

The  consideration  of  numerous  papers  of  which  he  was 
possessed,  seems  to  have  struck  Johnson's  mind,  with  a  sud- 
den anxiety,  and  as  they  were  in  great  confusion,  it  is  much 
to  be  lamented  that  he  had  not  entrusted  some  faithful  and 


1784]         HIS  LAST  WORDS  WITH  BURKE  553 

discreet  person  with  the  care  and  selection  of  them;  instead 
of  which,  he  in  a  precipitate  manner,  burnt  large  masses  of 
them,  with  little  regard,  as  I  apprehend,  to  discrimination. 
Not  that  I  suppose  we  have  thus  been  deprived  of  any  com- 
positions which  he  had  ever  intended  for  the  publick  eye; 
but,  from  what  escaped  the  flames,  I  judge  that  many  curi- 
ous circumstances  relating  both  to  himself  and  other  literary 
characters  have  perished. 

Two  very  valuable  articles,  I  am  sure,  we  have  lost,  which 
were  two  quarto  volumes,  containing  a  full,  fair,  and  most 
particular  account  of  his  own  life,  from  his  earliest  recollec- 
tion. I  owned  to  him,  that  having  accidentally  seen  them, 
I  had  read  a  great  deal  in  them;  and  apologizing  for  the 
liberty  I  had  taken,  asked  him  if  I  could  help  it.  He  plac- 
idly answered,  'Why,  Sir,  I  do  not  think  you  could  have 
helped  it.'  I  said  that  I  had,  for  once  in  my  life,  felt  half  an 
inclination  to  commit  theft.  It  had  come  into  my  mind  to 
carry  off  those  two  volumes,  and  never  see  him  more.  Upon 
my  inquiring  how  this  would  have  affected  him,  'Sir,  (said 
he,)  I  believe  I  should  have  gone  mad.' 

During  his  last  illness,  Johnson  experienced  the  steady 
and  kind  attachment  of  his  numerous  friends.  Mr.  Hoole 
has  drawn  up  a  narrative  of  what  passed  in  the  visits  which 
he  paid  him  during  that  time,  from  the  10th  of  November 
to  the  13th  of  December,  the  day  of  his  death,  inclusive,  and 
has  favoured  me  with  a  perusal  of  it,  with  permission  to 
make  extracts,  which  I  have  done.  Nobody  was  more  at- 
tentive to  him  than  Mr.  Langton,  to  whom  he  tenderly  said, 
Te  teneam  moriens  defidente  manu.  And  I  think  it  highly  to 
the  honour  of  Mr.  Windham,  that  his  important  occupations 
as  an  active  statesman  did  not  prevent  him  from  paying 
assiduous  respect  to  the  dying  Sage  whom  he  revered.  Mr. 
Langton  informs  me,  that,  'one  day  he  found  Mr.  Burke  and 
four  or  five  more  friends  sitting  with  Johnson.  Mr.  Burke 
said  to  him,  "I  am  afraid,  Sir,  such  a  number  of  us  may  be 
oppressive  to  you."  "No,  Sir,  (said  Johnson,)  it  is  not  so; 
and  I  must  be  in  a  wretched  state,  indeed,  when  your  com- 
pany would. not  be  a  delight  to  me."  Mr.  Burke,  in  a  trem- 
ulous voice,  expressive  of  being  very  tenderly  affected,  re- 


554  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

plied,  "My  dear  Sir,  you  have  always  been  too  good  to  me." 
Immediately  afterwards  he  went  away.  This  was  the  last 
circumstance  in  the  acquaintance  of  these  two  eminent  men.' 

The  following  particulars  of  his  conversation  within  a  few 
days  of  his  death,  I  give  on  the  authority  of  Mr.  John 
Nichols : — 

'He  said,  that  the  Parliamentary  Debates  were  the  only 
part  of  his  writings  which  then  gave  him  any  compunction: 
but  that  at  the  time  he  wrote  them,  he  had  no  conception 
he  was  imposing  upon  the  world,  though  they  were  frequently 
written  from  very  slender  materials,  and  often  from  none  at 
all, — the  mere  coinage  of  his  own  imagination.  He  never 
wrote  any  part  of  his  works  ^nth  equal  velocity.  Three 
columns  of  the  Magazine,  in  an  hour,  was  no  uncommon 
effort,  which  was  faster  than  most  persons  could  have  tran- 
scribed that  quantity, 

'Of  his  friend  Cave,  he  always  spoke  with  great  affection. 
"Yet  (said  he,)  Cave,  (who  never  looked  out  of  his  window, 
but  with  a  view  to  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,)  was  a  penuri- 
ous pay-master;  he  would  contract  for  lines  by  the  hundred, 
and  expect  the  long  hundred;  but  he  was  a  good  man,  and 
always  delighted  to  have  his  friends  at  his  table." 

'He  said  at  another  time,  three  or  four  days  only  before 
his  death,  speaking  of  the  little  fear  he  had  of  undergoing 
a  chirurgical  operation,  "I  would  give  one  of  these  legs  for 
a  year  more  of  life,  I  mean  of  comfortable  life,  not  such  as 
that  which  I  now  suffer;" — and  lamented  much  his  inability 
to  read  during  his  hours  of  restlessness;  "I  used  formerly, 
(he  added,)  when  sleepless  in  bed,  to  read  like  a  Turk." 

'Whilst  confined  by  his  last  illness,  it  was  his  regular  prac- 
tice to  have  the  church-service  read  to  him,  by  some  atten- 
tive and  friendly  Divine.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Hoole  performed 
this  kind  office  in  my  presence  for  the  last  time,  when,  by 
his  own  desire,  no  more  than  the  Litany  was  read;  in  which 
his  responses  were  in  the  deep  and  sonorous  voice  which  Mr. 
Boswell  has  occasionally  noticed,  and  with  the  most  pro- 
found devotion  that  can  be  imagined.  His  hearing  not 
being  quite  perfect,  he  more  than  once  interrupted  Mr. 


1784]  HIS  FORTITUDE  555 

Hoole,  with  "Louder,  my  dear  Sir,  louder,  I  entreat  you,  or 
you  pray  in  vain!" — and,  when  the  service  was  ended,  he, 
with  great  earnestness,  turned  round  to  an  excellent  lady 
who  was  present,  sajdng,  "I  thank  you.  Madam,  very  heartily, 
for  your  kindness  in  joining  me  in  this  solenm  exercise* 
Live  well,  I  conjure  you;  and  you  will  not  feel  the  compunc- 
tion at  the  last,  which  I  now  feel."  So  truly  humble  were 
the  thoughts  which  this  great  and  good  man  entertained  of 
his  own  approaches  to  religious  perfection.' 

Amidst  the  melancholy  clouds  which  hung  over  the  dying 
Johnson,  his  characteristical  manner  shewed  itself  on  different 
occasions. 

When  Dr.  Warren,  in  the  usual  style,  hoped  that  he  was 
better;  his  answer  was,  'No,  Sir;  you  cannot  conceive  with 
what  acceleration  I  advance  towards  death.' 

A  man  whom  he  had  never  seen  before  was  employed  one 
night  to  sit  up  with  him.  Being  asked  next  morning  how  he 
liked  his  attendant,  his  answer  was,  'Not  at  all,  Sir:  the 
fellow's  an  ideot;  he  is  as  aukward  as  a  turn-spit  when  first 
put  into  the  wheel,  and  as  sleepy  as  a  dormouse.' 

Mr.  Windham  having  placed  a  pUlow  conveniently  to 
support  him,  he  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  and  said, 
'That  will  do, — all  that  a  pillow  can  do.' 

He  requested  three  things  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds: — To 
forgive  him  thirty  pounds  which  he  had  borrowed  of  him; 
to  read  the  Bible;  and  never  to  use  his  pencil  on  a  Sunday. 
Sir  Joshua  readily  acquiesced. 

Johnson,  with  that  native  fortitude,  which,  amidst  all  his 
bodily  distress  and  mental  sufferings,  never  forsook  him, 
asked  Dr.  Brocklesby,  as  a  man  in  whom  he  had  confidence, 
to  tell  him  plainly  whether  he  could  recover.  'Give  me 
(said  he,)  a  direct  answer.'  The  Doctor  having  first  asked 
him  if  he  could  bear  the  whole  truth,  which  way  soever  it 
might  lead,  and  being  answered  that  he  could,  declared  that, 
in  his  opinion,  he  could  not  recover  without  a  miracle. 
'Then,  (said  Johnson,)  I  will  take  no  more  physick,  not  even 
my  opiates ;  for  I  have  prayed  that  I  may  render  up  my  soul 
to  God  unclouded.'  In  this  resolution  he  persevered,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  used  only  the  weakest  kinds  of  sustenance. 


LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  {i784 

Being  pressed  by  Mr.  Windham  to  take  somewhat  more 
generous  nourishment,  lest  too  low  a  diet  should  have  the 
very  effect  which  he  dreaded,  by  debilitating  his  mind,  he 
said,  'I  will  take  any  thing  but  inebriating  sustenance.' 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Strahan,  who  was  the  son  of  his  friend, 
and  had  been  always  one  of  his  great  favourites,  had,  during 
his  last  illness,  the  satisfaction  of  contributing  to  soothe  and 
comfort  him.  That  gentleman's  house,  at  Islington,  of 
which  he  is  Vicar,  afforded  Johnson,  occasionally  and  easily, 
an  agreeable  change  of  place  and  fresh  air;  and  he  attended 
also  upon  him  in  town  in  the  discharge  of  the  sacred  offices 
of  his  profession. 

Mr.  Strahan  has  given  me  the  agreeable  assurance,  that, 
after  being  in  much  agitation,  Johnson  became  quite  com- 
posed, and  continued  so  till  his  death. 

Dr.  Brocklesby,  who  will  not  be  suspected  of  fanaticism, 
obliged  me  with  the  following  account: — 

'For  some  time  before  his  death,  all  his  fears  were  calmed 
and  absorbed  by  the  prevalence  of  his  faith,  and  his  trust  in 
the  merits  and  propitiation  of  Jesus  Christ.' 

Johnson  having  thus  in  his  mind  the  true  Christian 
scheme,  at  once  rational  and  consolatory,  uniting  justice  and 
mercy  in  the  Divinity,  with  the  improvement  of  human 
nature,  previous  to  his  receiving  the  Holy  Sacrament  in  his 
apartment,  composed  and  fervently  uttered  this  prayer: — 

'Almighty  and  most  merciful  Father,  I  am  now  as  to 
human  eyes,  it  seems,  about  to  commemorate,  for  the  last 
time,  the  death  of  thy  Son  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour  and 
Redeemer.  Grant,  0  Lord,  that  my  whole  hope  and  con- 
fidence may  be  in  his  merits,  and  thy  mercy;  enforce  and 
accept  my  imperfect  repentance;  make  this  commemoration 
available  to  the  confirmation  of  my  faith,  the  establishment 
of  my  hope,  and  the  enlargement  of  my  charity;  and  make 
the  death  of  thy  Son  Jesus  Christ  effectual  to  my  redemp- 
tion. Have  mercy  upon  me,  and  pardon  the  multitude  of 
my  offences.  Bless  my  friends;  have  mercy  upon  all  men. 
Support  me,  by  thy  Holy  Spirit,  in  the  days  of  weakness,  and 
at  the  hour  of  death;  and  receive  me,  at  my  death,  to  ever- 
lasting happiness,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ.    Amen.' 


17S4]  HIS  LAST  MOMENTS  557 

Having,  as  has  been  already  mentioned,  made  his  will  on 
the  8th  and  9th  of  December,  and  settled  all  his  worldly 
affairs,  he  languished  till  Monday,  the  13th  of  that  month, 
when  he  expired,  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  with  so 
little  apparent  pain  that  his  attendants  hardly  perceived 
when  his  dissolution  took  place. 

Of  his  last  moments,  my  brother,  Thomas  David,  has  fur- 
nished me  with  the  following  particulars: — 

'The  Doctor,  from  the  time  that  he  was  certain  his  death 
was  near,  appeared  to  be  perfectly  resigned,  was  seldom  or 
never  fretful  or  out  of  temper,  and  often  said  to  his  faithful 
servant,  who  gave  me  this  account,  "Attend,  Francis,  to  the 
salvation  of  your  soul,  which  is  the  object  of  greatest  impor- 
tance:" he  also  explained  to  him  passages  in  the  Scripture, 
and  seemed  to  have  pleasure  in  talking  upon  religious  sub- 
jects. 

'On  Monday,  the  13th  of  December,  the  day  on  which  he 
died,  a  Miss  Morris,  daughter  to  a  particular  friend  of  his, 
called,  and  said  to  Francis,  that  she  begged  to  be  permitted 
to  see  the  Doctor,  that  she  might  earnestly  request  him  to 
give  her  his  blessing.  Francis  went  into  his  room,  followed 
by  the  young  lady,  and  delivered  the  message.  The  Doctor 
turned  himself  in  the  bed,  and  said,  "God  bless  you,  my 
dear!"  These  were  the  last  words  he  spoke.  His  difficulty 
of  breathing  increased  till  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
when  Mr.  Barber  and  Mrs.  Desmoulins,  who  were  sitting  in 
the  room,  observing  that  the  noise  he  made  in  breathing  had 
ceased,  went  to  the  bed,  and  found  he  was  dead.' 

About  two  days  after  his  death,  the  following  very  agree- 
able account  was  communicated  to  Mr.  Malone,  in  a  letter  by 
the  Honourable  John  Byng,  to  whom  I  am  much  obliged  for 
granting  me  permission  to  introduce  it  in  my  work. 

'  Dear  Sir, — Since  I  saw  you,  I  have  had  a  long  conversa- 
tion with  Cawston,  who  sat  up  with  Dr.  Johnson,  from  nine 
o'clock,  on  Sunday  evening,  till  ten  o'clock,  on  Monday 
morning.  And,  from  what  I  can  gather  from  him,  it  should 
seem,  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  perfectly  composed,  steady  in 
hope,  and  resigned  to  death.    At  the  interval  of  each  hour, 


566  LIFE  OF  DR.  JOHNSON  [i784 

they  assisted  him  to  sit  up  in  his  bed,  and  move  his  legs, 
which  were  in  much  pain;  when  he  regularly  addressed  him- 
self to  fervent  prayer;  and  though,  sometimes,  his  voice 
failed  him,  his  senses  never  did,  during  that  time.  The  only 
sustenance  he  received,  was  cyder  and  water.  He  said  his 
mind  was  prepared,  and  the  time  to  his  dissolution  seemed 
long.  At  six  in  the  morning,  he  inquired  the  hour,  and,  on 
being  informed,  said  that  all  went  on  regularly,  and  he  felt 
he  had  but  a  few  hours  to  live. 

'At  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  parted  from  Cawston, 
sajdng,  "You  should  not  detain  Mr.  Windham's  servant: — 
I  thank  you;  bear  my  remembrance  to  your  master."  Caw- 
ston says,  that  no  man  could  appear  more  collected,  more 
devout,  or  less  terrified  at  the  thoughts  of  the  approaching 
minute. 

'This  account,  which  is  so  much  more  agreeable  than,  and 
somewhat  different  from,  yours,  has  given  us  the  satisfac- 
tion of  thinking  that  that  great  man  died  as  he  lived,  full  of 
resignation,  strengthened  in  faith,  and  joyful  in  hope.' 

A  few  days  before  his  death,  he  had  asked  Sir  John  Haw- 
kins, as  one  of  his  executors,  where  he  should  be  buried; 
and  on  being  answered,  'Doubtless,  in  Westminster-Abbey,' 
seemed  to  feel  a  satisfaction,  very  natural  to  a  Poet;  and 
indeed  in  mj'^  opinion  very  natural  to  every  man  of  any 
imagination,  who  has  no  famih^  sepulchre  in  which  he  can 
be  laid  with  his  fathers.  Accordingly,  upon  Monday,  De- 
cember 20,  his  remains  were  deposited  in  that  noble  and 
renowned  edifice;  and  over  his  grave  was  placed  a  large 
blue  flag-stone,  with  this  inscription: — 

'Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D. 

Obiit  XIII  die  Decembris, 

Amio  Domini 

M.DCC.LXXXIV. 

/Elatis  8U<B  Lxxv.' 

His  funeral  was  attended  by  a  respectable  number  of  his 
friends,  particularly  such  of  the  members  of  the  Literary 


1784]  HIS   FUNERAL  559 

Club  as  were  then  in  town;  and  was  also  honoured  with  the 
presence  of  several  of  the  Reverend  Chapter  of  Westminster. 
Mr.  Burke,  Sir  Joseph  Banks,  Mr.  Windham,  Mr.  Langton, 
Sir  Charles  Bunbury,  and  Mr.  Colman,  bore  his  pall.  His 
school-fellow.  Dr.  Taylor,  performed  the  mournful  office  of 
reading  the  burial  service. 

I  trust,  I  shall  not  be  accused  of  affectation,  when  I  de- 
clare, that  I  find  myself  unable  to  express  all  that  I  felt 
upon  the  loss  of  such  a  'Guide,  Philosopher,  and  Friend.' 
I  shall,  therefore,  not  say  one  word  of  my  own,  but  adopt 
those  of  an  eminent  friend,  which  he  uttered  with  an  abrupt 
felicity,  superior  to  all  studied  compositions : — '  He  has  made 
a  chasm,  which  not  only  nothing  can  fill  up,  but  which  noth- 
ing has  a  tendency  to  fill  up.  Johnson  is  dead.  Let  us  go 
to  the  next  best: — there  is  nobody;  no  man  can  be  said  to 
put  you  in  mind  of  Johnson.' 


INDEX 


Abel  Drugger,  298. 

Abercrombie,  James,  198. 

Aberdeen,  184,  362. 

Abington,  Mrs.,  the  actress, 
235-6,  239.  246. 

Acting,  343,  344. 

Action  in  speaking,  199,  200. 

Adam,  Robert,  335. 

Adam,  the  brothers,  architects, 
237. 

Adamites,  220. 

Adams,  Rev.  William,  D.D. 
(Master  of  Pembroke  College), 
12,  17,  32,  41,  44,  65,  66,  132, 
268,  269.  519-26,  547. 

Addison,  Joseph,  110,  222,  333, 
407,  444. 

Adelphi,  458,  460. 

Adey.  Miss,  5,  280. 

Admiration,  251. 

Adventurer,  Hawkesworth's,  61. 

Affectation,  129,  447,  548. 

Affection,  493. 

Akenside,  Mark,  187. 

Aleppo,  443. 

Allen,  Edmxmd,  the  printer,  129, 
245,  328,  330,  373.  456-7,  500, 
548. 

Althorp,  Lord  (second  earl  Spen- 
cer), 434. 

America  and  Americans,  233,  353, 
354,  380,  392,  452,  495,  518. 

Ancestry,  185,  225. 

Anne,  Queen,  7. 

Apostolical  Ordination,  174. 

Apparitions.     See  Spirits. 

Arbuthnot,  Dr.  John,  llO. 

Argyle,  Archibald,  third  Duke  of, 
42,  313. 

Ashbourne,  Johnson  and  Boswell 
visit  it,  284-6,  326-55;  men- 
tioned, 542. 

Astley,  the  equestrian,  431. 

Aston,  Miss  (Mrs.),  280,  282. 

Aston,  'Molly',  280. 

'Athol  porridge',  450. 

Auchinleck,  125,  341. 

Auchinleck,  Lord,  318,  474. 


Authors,  attacks  on,  240,  417, 468. 
Avarice,  311. 

Bacon,  Francis,  50,  186,  350,  514. 

Ballads,  200. 

Balloon,  account  of  a,  543,  545, 

Banks,  Sir  Joseph,  132,  659. 

Barber,  Francis,  Johnson's  negro 
servant,  52-4,  56,  84-5,  138, 
156,  184,  250,  256,  355,  415, 
518,  652,  557. 

Baretti,  Joseph,  154,  171.  198, 
258-9,  271,  288,  336,  416. 

Barnard,  Rev.  Dr.,  dean  of  Derry, 
afterwards  Bishop  of  Killaloe, 
232,  317,  459,  466. 

Barretier,  Philip,  Life  by  John- 
son, 35. 

Barrington,  Hon.  Daines,  292, 
607. 

Barry,  James,  499,  507. 

Bartolozzi,  Francis,  324. 

Bath,  302-3. 

Bathiu-st,  Dr.,  43,  52. 

Bathurst,  Lord  Chancellor,  329. 

Baxter,  Rev.  Richard,  220,  485. 

Bayle,  his  Dictionary,  110. 

Beattie,  Dr.  James,  182-3,  460, 
534,  535;   his  Hermit,  486. 

Beauclerk  Hon.  Topham,  59-61, 
209,  260,  412,  438,  445,  450; 
death,  434 ;  dinners  and  suppers 
at  his  house,  212,  237,  423-5; 
Johnson's  affection  for  him, 
439,  460,  483;  Johnson's  alter- 
cations with,  375-6,  421-2. 

Beauclerk,  Lady  Diana,  wife  of 
Topham  Beauclerk,  214,  239. 

Beauty,  of  women,  470. 

Bedlam,  Johnson  visits  it,  256. 

Bellamy,  Mrs.,  the  actress,  79. 

Bentley,  Dr.,  16,  442,  443,  496. 

Berkeley,  Bishop,  130. 

Betty  Broom,  506. 

Bickerstaff,  Isaac,  166-6. 

Binning,  Lord,  194,  402. 

Biography,  1-3,  110,  149,  187, 
270,  312,  333,  647. 


561 


562 


INDEX 


Biography,  1-3.  110,  149,  187, 
270,  312,  333,  547. 

Birmingham,  4,  21;  Jotmson 
visits  it,  274,  472,  547. 

Bishops,  512. 

Biaclsstone,  Sh-  William,  18,  421. 

Blair,  Rev.  Dr.  Hugh,  96. 

Blaney,  Mrs.  Elizabeth,  545. 

Blank  verse.  111. 

Blenheim  Park,  Johnson  visits  it, 
271. 

Blue-stocking  Clubs,  462. 

Boccage,  Mme.  du,  259. 

Boileau,  .30. 

Bolingbroke,  Henry  St.  John,  first 
Viscount,  408,  410;  Johnson's 
criticisms  on,  67,  80. 

Bolingbroke,  Lady,  397. 

Bon-mots,  397. 

Books,  abundance  of  modem,  403 ; 
death,  leaving  one's  books  at, 
391;  getting  boys  to  have  en- 
tertainment from  them,  422; 
knowledge  of  the  world  through 
books,  27;  looking  over  their 
backs  in  a  library,  253 ;  not  read 
willingly,  497 ;  seldom  read  when 
given  away,  209;  variety  of  them 
to  be  kept  about  a  man,  349. 

Booksellers,  75,  245,  322,  468. 

Boscawen,  Hon.  Mrs.,  402,  458. 

Boscovich,  P6re,  179,  261 

BosvlUe,  Mrs.,  188. 

Boswell,  Hir  Alexander,  Baronet. 
Boswell's  eldest  son,  318. 

Boswell,  Dr.,  116,  289. 

Boswell.  James.  Chief  Events  and 
Works :  1760,  first  visit  to 
London,  91-2;  1762,  second 
visit  to  London,  92;  gets  to 
know  Johnson,  94;  visits  Lon- 
don, 138-43;  visits  London  and 
Oxford,  152-5;  Account  of  Cor- 
sica. 140;  1769.  visits  London, 
151.  320;  first  visit  to  Streat- 
ham.  159-76;  attends  the 
Stratford  Jubilee,  162;  1772, 
visits  London,  184-97;  1773, 
visits  London,  199-226;  elected 
a  member  of  the  Literary  Club, 
214;  tour  to  the  Hebrides,  226; 
1775.  visits  London,  232-57; 
visits  Wilton  and  Mamhead  in 
Devonshire.  255;  visits  Lon- 
don. 263-6,  287-315;    becomes 


Paoli's  constant  guest  in  Lon- 
don, 298;  visits  Oxford,  Bir- 
mingham. Lichfield,  and  Ash- 
bourne with  Johnson,  266-87; 
visits  Bath,  302-4;  introduces 
Wilkes  to  Johnson,  307 ;  meets 
Johnson  at  Ashbourne,  326-55; 
1778,  visits  London,  355-413; 
attacked  violently  by  Johnson, 
406;  1779,  visits  London  (in 
the  spring).  416-26;  visits 
London  (in  the  autmnn),  427- 
32;  1781,  visits  London,  447- 
66;  visits  Southill  with  John- 
son, 466-70;  1782.  death  of  his 
father,  474;  1783,  visits  Lon- 
don, 476-500;  visits  London, 
511-39;  visits  Oxford  with 
Johnson,  517-26;  Journal  of  a 
Tour  to  the  Hebrides,  257,  333, 
348,  494. 
His  letters  to  Johnson,  155,  229, 

322,  425,  548. 
Johnson's  letters  to  Boswell,  155, 
182,   198,  226,  257-8,  321-2, 
326,  415,  425,  447,  540. 

Boswell,  Mrs.  (the  author's  wife), 
257,  318,  322,  325,  415,  474, 
500,  548. 

Boswell,  Veronica  (Boswell's  eld- 
est daughter),  318,  416. 

Boufflers,  Comtesse  de,  177,  260. 

Brandy,  the  drink  for  heroes,  419, 
451. 

Brighthelmstone  (Brighton),  159, 
475. 

Bristol,  Boswell  and  Johnson's 
visit,  303. 

Brockiesby,  Dr.,  481.  503.  507. 
536,  538,  542,  551,  552,  555, 
556. 

Brown,  Launcelot  (.Capabilitv), 
271,  428. 

Brown,  Tom,  author  of  a  spelling- 
book,  8. 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  60. 

Brutes,  their  future  life,  163. 

Budgell,  Eustace,  209. 

Bulkeley,  Mrs.,  203. 

Bull-dog,  Dr.  Taylor's,  347. 

Bunbury,  Sir  Charles,  132,  234, 
559. 

Banyan,  John,  214. 

Burke,  Edmund,  131.  214,  222, 
315.  370,  390.  396, 446, 449, 450. 


INDEX 


563 


494,  553,  559;  Letter  on  the 
Affairs  of  America,  345 ;  his  bon- 
mots,  397 ;  his  universal  knowl- 
edge, 318,  442,  444,  478,  513; 
his  appreciation  and  criticisms 
of  Johnson,  528;  Johnson's 
opinions  of  him,  181,  193,271, 
418,  444,  453. 

Burke,  Richard,  jimior  (Edmund 
Burke's  son),  132,  497,  545. 

Bimiet,  Gilbert,  Bishop  of  Salis- 
bury, 349. 

Bumey,  Dr.  Charles,  71,  77,  80, 
97,  261,  458,  471,  504,  548;  his 
anecdotes  of  Johnson,  261-3, 
471. 

Bumey,  Dr.  Charles   (jim.),  549. 

Bumey,  Frances  (Mme.  D'Ar- 
blay),  499,  513. 

Bumey,  Mrs.,  492. 

Burton,  Robert,  179,  268. 

Bute,  third  Earl  of,  88,  89,  314, 
427,  466,  469. 

Butler,  Samuel,  Hudibras,  300. 

Butter,  Dr.,  286,  333,  337,  464, 
651. 

Cadell,  Thomas,  323. 

Cambridge,  146. 

Cambridge,  R.  O.,  251,  253,  364. 

Camden,  Lord,  390. 

Campbell,  Dr.  John,  233,  263, 363. 

Campbell,  Dr.  Thomas,  241-3, 
246. 

Campbell,  Mungo,  347. 

Cant,  clearing  the  mind  of,  498. 

Cards,  294,  418. 

Careless,  Mrs.  Johnson's  first 
love,  275-6. 

Carmichael,  Miss,  356,  415. 

Carte,  Thomas,  History  of  Eng- 
land, 245. 

Carter,  Miss  Elizabeth,  (Mrs.), 
339,  458. 

Catherine  II,  514. 

Cave,  Edward,  28-9,  56,  191,  554. 

Chambers,  Catherine,  150. 

Chambers,  Sir  Robert,  151,  224-5. 

Chamier,  Andrew,  131,  365. 

Charlemont,  first  Earl  of,  121, 
212,  412,  450. 

Charles  I,  478. 

Charles  II,  59,  117,  149,  243. 

Charles  XII,  of  Sweden,  371. 

Charlotte,  Queen,  211. 


Chastity,  154. 

Chatham,  William  Pitt,  Earl  of, 
31,  197. 

Chatsworth,  Boswell  visits  it,  355 ; 
Johnson  visits  it,  542-5. 

Chatterton,  Thomas,  303. 

Chesterfield,  fourth  Earl  of,  200, 
328,  423,  535;  Plan  of  the 
Dictionary,  addressed  to,  41,  62; 
seeks  to  flatter  Johnson,  62-3; 
Johnson's  severe  reply,  63—4; 
470;  Letters,  304;  Miscellane- 
ous Works,  411. 

Chichester,  476. 

Children,  297;  method  of  rearing 
them,  173;  prematurely  wise, 
262. 

China,  wall  of,  372-3. 

Cholmondeley,  Mrs.,  179, 367, 394. 

Christianity,  dictates  of,  379; 
differences  chiefly  in  forms; 
102,  184,  347;  evidences  for  it, 
102,  121,  139,  142,  347;  immor- 
tality its  great  doctrine,  347. 

Church  of  England,  126,  243. 

Churchill,  Charles,  103,  107. 

Gibber,  Colley,  100,  150,  169,  235, 
242,  343,  605. 

Gibber,  Theophilus,  edits  the 
Lives  of  the  Poets,  42. 

Gibber,  Mrs.  (wife  of  Theophi- 
lus), 45,  169. 

Claret,  for  boys,  419,  451. 

Clarke,  Rev.  Dr.  Samuel,  16,  442. 

Clergy,  the,  386,  450. 

Clive,  Lord,  404,  428. 

Cllve,  Mrs.,  the  actress,  437,  505. 

Cobb,  Mrs.,  280.       v 

Cobham,  Lord  410. 

Cock-Lane  Ghost,  103,  372, 

Coke,  Lord,  186. 

Collins,  WiUiam,  70. 

Colman,  George,  the  elder,  132,. 
234,  395,  439,  441,  559. 

Colson,  Rev.  J.,  25. 

Comedy,  distinguished  from  farce,. 
170;  its  great  end,  211. 

Commerce,  202,  249. 

Community  of  goods,  219. 

Composition,  fine  passages  to  be 
struck  out,  213;  man  writing 
from  his  own  mind,  245. 

Comus,  Johnson's  Prologue  to, 
51. 

Condescension,  436. 


564 


INDEX 


Confession,  175. 

Cbngreve,  Rev.  Charles,  275.  285. 

Congreve,  William,  166,  207,  346. 

Conjugal  infidelity,  154,  295. 

Conscience,  496. 

Conversation.    209,    250-1,    269, 

271,    305,   363,   388,   423,   465. 

477,  482.  486,  488,  496. 
Convocation,  126. 
Cook,  Captain,  524. 
Cookery,  377. 

Cooper,  John  Gilbert,  180,  436. 
Copyright,  415. 
Corsica,  140,  151.  155.  159. 
Cotterells,  the  Miss,  57,  87. 
Country  gentlemen.  341,  476-7. 
Country  Ufe,  365,  412,  498.  539. 
Courage.  164,  242.  372.  379,  522. 
Court  mourning,  531. 
Courtenay,  John,  132,  390,  527. 
Cowley,  Abraham,  446. 
Crabbe.  Rev.  George.  481. 
Craven.  Lady.  293. 
'Critical  Review,  149. 
Crown,  the,  189,  498. 
Cruikstiank,  the  surgeon,  504.  551. 
Cumberland,  Richard,  446,  549. 
Gumming,  Tom,  the  Quaker,  495. 
Curiosity,  489. 

Dalrymple,  Sir  John,  213. 

Dancing,  451. 

Dante,  214. 

Dartineuf,  Charles,  270. 

Davies.  Mrs..  133,  502. 

Davies.  Thomas.  93-6.  109,  133, 

J58.    170,    198,    227,    231,    257, 

'323,  356,  438,  502;    dinners  at 

Oils  house,  242,  300. 
Dead,  prayers  for  the,  53,  55. 
Death,   reflections  on,    169,    175. 

332,  334. 
Debates   of  Parliament,   29,    389, 

527,  554. 
Dedications,  41,  62,  138. 
Dempster,    George,    114-6,    197, 

383,  518. 
Derby,  23,  336,  337. 
Derbysliire,  285,  542. 
Derrick,  Samuel,  121.  488. 
Desmoullns.   Mrs.,  53.  356.  382. 

392.  415.  416.  456,  479-80,  557. 
Devonshire,  fifth  Duke  and  Duch* 

ess  of,  469.  542.  545. 
Dick,  Sir  Alexander.  320,  490. 


Dictionary,  Johnson's,  40-3,  62-7, 
72-4,  198,  408,  429,  436. 

DiUy,  Charles,  534. 

Dilly,  Messrs,  Edward  and 
Charles,  booksellers,  217.  241, 
307-15,  377-80.  413,  460-2, 
515. 

DiUy»  Squire,  466-70. 

Dodd,  Rev.  Dr.  WUliam,  328-32, 
338   492 

Dodsley,  Robert,  40-1,  45,  65,  70. 
270,  299,  429,  442. 

Dogs,  170. 

Douglas,  Rev.  Dr.  John,  Bishop 
of  Salisbury,  30,  103,  112,  132, 
158. 

Dreams,  52. 

Dress,  46,  286,  483. 

Drunkenness,  340. 

Drury  Lane  Theatre,  40.  44.  51. 
437. 

Dryden,  John. 122,  133,  215,  236, 
312,  410. 

Duelling,  191,  494. 

Dunning.  John,  first  Lord  Ash- 
burton,  131,  186,  361. 

Dyer,  John,  The  Fleece,  273. 

East  Indies,  292,  294,  427. 
Edial,  23. 

Edinburgh,  110.  126. 
Education,  8.  120,  262. 
Edwards,  Oliver,  384-8,  455. 
Eglintoune,  Alexander,  tenth  Earl 

of,  158,  347.  393. 
Elibank,  Patrick,  fifth  Lord,  295, 

305,  466. 
Eliot,  Edward,  first  Lord  Eliot. 

305,  450,  532. 
Ellis,  'Jack,'  a  scrivener,  293. 
Elphinston,  James,  48-9,  207,  368. 
Emigration,  359. 
Emmet.  Mrs.,  the  actress,  279. 
Ersklne,     Hon.     Thomas,    after^ 

wards  Lord  Ersklne,  190. 
Essex  Head  Club,  507.  543. 
Eternal  punishment.  522-3. 
Eugenio,  215. 
Excise,  defined.  73,  408. 

Faith,  merit  in,  382. 
Fame,  250,  370. 
FamiUes,  185,  281. 
Fergusson,  Sir  Adam,  188-0. 


INDEX 


565 


Fiddlers,  and  Fiddling.  195,  207. 

362. 
Fielding.  Henry,  152.  190,  302. 
Fine  clothes,  160,  165,  286,  483. 
Fitzherbert,    William,    204.    311, 

445. 
Flattery.  211. 
Flint.  Bet.  461. 
Floyd,  Thomas,  122. 
Foote,    Samuel,    85,    170-1,    201, 

231,   260,    265,    310,   371,   482, 

513,  525. 
Foppery-  never  cured,  180. 
Forbes,   Sir  William,  of  Pitsligo, 

301,  316-18. 
Ford,  Rev.  Cornelius  (Johnson's 

cousin),  11,  410. 
Fornication,  122,  291. 
Forwardness,  270. 
Fox,    Charles    James,    365,    370, 

372,  478. 
France,   28,    179,   258,   383,   411, 

441,  479. 
Frederick    the    Great,    114,    117, 

404. 
Free  Will,  164. 
Priends,  in  a  future  state,  391, 

515. 
Friendship,  74,  306,  379,  423,  516. 
Future  state,  187,  332. 

Gaming,  190,  294. 

Garagantua,  366-7. 

Garden,  a  walled,  491. 

Gardiner,  Mrs.,  293,  506. 

Garrick,  David,  20,  24,  28,  35,  38- 
40,  44,  51,  61,  132,  165,  263, 
367-9,  380,  390,  423,  436,  443, 
458-60,  499;  Johnson's  criti- 
cisms and  appreciations  of,  95, 
98,  163,  168-9,  196,  207-8,  212, 
237,  278-9,  298,  304,  310-12, 
344,  370-1,  423-4,  438,  505. 

Garrick,  Mrs.,  458-60.  513. 

Gajrick,  Peter,  28,  277,  280. 

Gastrell,  Mrs.,  282. 

Gay.  John,  254,  396,  457. 

Gentility,  164,  242,  305,  445. 

Gentleman's  Magazine,  28-9. 

George  I,  243. 

George  II.  34,  243,  462. 

George  III,  88,  145-50.  376. 

Ghosts,  arguments  for  and  against 
their  existence,  103,  187,  191, 
358,  381,  410,  426,  452. 


Giant's  Causeway,  430. 

Gibbon,  Edward,  246,  251,  305, 
372,  449. 

Gibbons,  Rev.  Dr.,  469,  515. 

Gluttony,  127. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  104-7,  109, 
142-3,  150,  165,  172,  191-4, 
197,  199,  201,  209-14,  249-50, 
299,  339,  364-5,  390.  439-10, 
443,  445,  465,  491,  484,  512; 
his  death,  338;  Johnson's  epi- 
taphs on,  228,  315-18;  Ani- 
mated Nature,  193,  213,  290, 
336;  Deserted  Village,  212; 
Good-natured  Man,  151-2,  395; 
History  of  Rome,  213;  Life  of 
Parnell,  187;  She  Stoops  to  Con- 
quer, 198,  202,  203,  205-6,  211, 
395,  531;  The  Traveller,  106. 
138,  212,  365,  370.  396;  The 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,  106,  396. 
417. 

Good-breeding,  164. 

Good  Friday,  248.  392,  418,  455. 
490. 

Good-humor,  252,  404. 

Gothic  buildings,  69. 

Government,  forms  of,  189. 

Gower,  first  Earl  of,  73. 

Graham,  Marquis  of  (third  Duke 
of  Montrose),  420,  463. 

Grainger,  Dr.  James,  273. 

Gray,  Thomas,  101.  187,  238,  300, 
380,  440. 

Greek,  122,  443,  549. 

Greeks,  189. 

Green,  Richard,  of  Lichfield,  279, 
550. 

Greenwich,  122-4. 

Gresham  College,  290. 

Grief.  50,  283.  297,  326. 

Gwj-nn,  John,  the  architect, 
266-7. 

Hailes,    Lord     (Sir    David    Dal- 

rjTiipIe),  333,  349. 
Hale,  Sir  Matthew,  185. 
Hanover,  House  of,  112,  477. 
Happiness,  114,  116,  139,  188,  287, 

304,  352,  363. 
Harleian  Library  and  Catalogue, 

36. 
Harrington.  Coimtess  of,  328. 
Harris,   James    (Hermes   Harris), 

206.  253,  367-9. 


m^ 


INDEX 


Hawkesworth,  Dr.  John,  43,  51. 

Hawkins,  Sir  John,  55,  81,  272  n.. 
507,  539,  547,  551  n.,  552,  558. 

Heath,  Dr.,  449. 

Heberden,  Dr.,  501,  651. 

Hebrides  and  the  Highlands,  7, 
183,  364;  tour,  120,  210,  226-7, 
489;  account  of  the  tour,  231-2. 

Hector,  Edmund,  7,  9,  21,  274-6, 
473,  510,  547. 

Hell,  its  pavement  of  good  inten- 
tions, 250. 

Helmet,  hung  out  on  a  tower,  as  a 
sign  of  hospitality,  375. 

Henderson,  John,  522. 

Hervey,  Hon.  Henry,  27,  44. 

Hervey,  Hon.  Thomas,  144,  242. 

High  Life  below  Stairs,  437. 

Highwaymen,  360. 

Hill,  Dr.  Sir  John,  148,  377 

History,  253. 

Hogarth,  William,  34. 

Home,  Jolm,  235. 

Homer,  404. 

Hoole,  John,  240,  299,  455,  486, 
506,  516. 

Hope,  86. 

Hospitality,  204,  498. 

House  of  Commons,  359,  498. 

House  of  Lords,  194. 

H\mianlty,  Its  common  rights, 
488,  518. 

Hume,  David,  46,  139,  159,  175, 
346,  488. 

Himter,  Johnson's  school-master, 
8. 

Hypochondria,  349. 

Hypocrisy,  528. 

Iceland,  66,  375. 

Idleness,  112,  439. 

Idler,  The.  (Johnson's),  81. 

Ignorance,  98. 

Immortality,  260,  347. 

Incivility,  445. 

India,  244,  384.  428. 

Indians,  American,  493. 

Infidels  and  infidelity,  164,  431. 

Inquisition,   127. 

Intellectual  labor,  mankind's  aver- 
sion to  it,  98. 

Ireland  and  the  Irish,  215,  222. 
232,  430. 

Irene,  27-8,  44,  437. 

Islam,  7. 


Italy,  Johnson"  s  projected  visits  to 
it.  264,  288,  291,  297,  298,  532, 
536-42. 

Ivy  Lane  Club,  43,  507. 

Jackson,  Henry,  of  Uchfleld,  277. 

Jacobitism,  Johnson's,  7,  39,  112, 
204,  220. 

Jamaica,  .534. 

James  II,  243. 

James  (the  Pretender),  112. 

James,  Dr.  Robert,  20,  287,  294. 

Jenyns,  Soame,  379. 

Johnny  Armstrong,  101. 

Johnson,  Elizabeth  (Johnson's 
wife),  22-4,  48,  52-6,  161,  386, 
433,  642. 

Johnson,  Michael  (Johnson's  fa- 
ther), 3-5,  12,  13,  19,  546-6, 
660. 

Johnson,  Nathanael  (Johnson's 
yoimger  brother),  4,  550. 

Johnson,  Samuel :  Chief  events  of 
his  life. — 1709,  birth,  3;  1712, 
'touched'  by  Queen  Anne,  7; 
1716  (about),  enters  Lichfield 
school,  7;  1726,  enters  Stour- 
bridge School,  11;  1726,  re- 
turns home,  11;  1728,  enters 
Pembroke  College,  12;  trans- 
lates Pope's  Messiah,  13;  1729, 
returns  home,  19;  1731,  death 
of  his  father,  19;  1732,  usher  at 
Market  Bosworth,  20;  1733, 
at  Birmingham,  21;  1735, 
marries  Mrs.  Porter  and  opens 
a  school  at  Edial,  23;  1737, 
visits  London  with  Garrick,  24; 
returns  to  Lichfield  and  finishes 
Irene,  27;  removes  to  London, 
28;  1738,  becomes  a  writer  in 
the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  28-9 ; 
London,  30;  1739,  seeks  the  mas- 
tership of  Appleby  School  and 
the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts, 
32 ;  1 740,  Lives  of  Blake,  Drake, 
and  Barretier,  35;  Debates,  29; 
Proposals  for  printing  Bibli- 
otheca  Ilarlciana,  36;  Life  of 
Savage,  36;  sketching  outlines 
of  his  Dictionary,  39;  1746,  gets 
to  know  Levett,  66;  1747,  Pro- 
logue on  the  opening  of  Drury 
Lane  Theatre,  40;   1749,  Vanity 


INDEX 


567 


of  Human  Wishes,  43;  Irene 
acted,  44;  forms  the  Ivy  Lane 
Club,  43;  1750,  begins  The 
Rambler,  46;  death  of  his  wife, 
52;  Miss  Williams  begins  to 
reside  with  him,  51;  gets  to 
know  Reynolds,  57;  1753,  be- 
gins vol.  ii.  of  the  Dictionary, 
61;  visits  Oxford,  67;  Letter 
to  Lord  Chesterfield,  63:  be- 
comes an  M.  A.  of  Oxford,  71; 
publishes  the  Dictionary,  72; 
Proposals  for  an  edition  of 
Shakespeare,  76;  1758,  begins 
The  Idler,  81 ;  gets  to  know  Dr. 
Bumey,  80;  1759,  death  of  his 
mother,  81;  Rasselas,  81;  visits 
Oxford,  84;  1761,  visits  Lich- 
field, 87;  1762,  pensioned,  88; 
trip  to  Devonshire,  90;  1763. 
gets  to  know  Boswell,  94;  trip 
to  Harwich,  126;  1764,  visits 
Langton  in  Lincolnshire,  130; 
Literary  Club  foimded,  131; 
becomes  an  LL.D.  of  Dublin. 
134;  suffers  from  a  severe  ill- 
ness, 132;  gets  to  know  the 
Thrales  (either  this  year  or  in 
1764),  134;  publishes  his  S/iafce- 
speare,  137;  takes  a  house  in 
Johnson's  Coiirt,  138;  1767. 
interview  with  the  King,  145; 
1768,  Prologue  to  the  Good- 
Natured  Man,  151;  1769,  visits 
Brighton,  159,  appears  as  a 
witness  at  Baretti's  trial.  171; 
1771,  visits  Lichfield  and  Ash- 
bourne, 181;  1773,  publishes 
the  fourth  edition  of  the  Dic- 
tionary, 198;  tour  to  Scotland, 
226;  1775,  publishes  his  Jour- 
ney to  the  Western  Islands,  231; 
Taxation  no  Tyranny,  233;  be- 
comes an  LL.D.  of  Oxford,  240; 
tour  to  France,  258;  1776, 
visits  Oxford,  Lichfield  and 
Ashbourne  with  Boswell,  266; 
projected  tour  to  Italy  aban- 
doned, 288;  visits  Bath,  302; 
first  dinner  with  Wilkes,  306; 
exerts  himself  in  behalf  of  Dr. 
Dodd,  328;  meets  Boswell  at 
Ashbourne,  326;  1778,  visits 
Warley  Camp,  413;  1779,  pub- 
lishes the  first  four  volumes  of 


the  Lives.  415;  1780,  writing 
the  last  six  volumes  of  the  Lives, 
432;  publishes  the  last  six  vol- 
umes of  the  Lives,  446;  second 
dinner  with  WUkes,  460;  visits 
Southill,  466;  visits  Oxford, 
Birmingham,  Lichfield,  and 
Ashbourne,  472;  1782,  takes 
leave  of  Streatham,  475;  visits 
Brighton,  475;  1783,  has  a 
stroke  of  the  palsy,  500;  visits 
Rochester,  502;  visits  Heale, 
502 ;  threatened  with  a  surgical 
operation,  504;  founds  the 
Essex  Head  Club,  507;  at- 
tacked by  spasmodic  asthma, 
507;  1784,  visits  Oxford  with 
Boswell,  508;  projected  tour 
to  Italy,  532;  visits  Lichfield. 
Ashbourne,  Birmingham,  and 
Oxford,  542-7;  death,  557; 
funeral,  558. 

Johnson's  Letters. — To  Allen. 
Edmimd,  500;  Bagshaw,  Rev. 
T.,  542;  Barber,  Francis,  156; 
Baretti,  87;  Boswell,  James, 
(see  under  Boswell) ;  Boswell, 
Mrs..  318,  325,  474;  Brockles- 
by.  Dr.,  542-4;  Bumey,  Dr., 
71.  77,  504,  548;  Chesterfield. 
Earl  of,  63;  Davles,  Thomas, 
502;  Dodd,  Dr.,  330,  331; 
Elphlnstone,  James,  49 ;  Green, 
the  Lichfield  apothecary,  550; 
Langton,  Bennet,  78,  143,  227, 
257;  Langton,  Miss  Jane,  511; 
Lawrence,  Dr.,  433,  473;  Mac- 
pherson,  James,  229;  Porter, 
Miss,  490,  508;  Reynolds,  Sir 
Joshua,  181%  316,  471,  476,  507v 
517,  541,  544-5;  Simpson. 
Joseph,  83;  Taylor,  Dr..  54; 
510;  Thrale,  Mrs.,  501,  504; 
Thurlow,  Lord  Chancellor,  541 ; 
Warton,  Rev.  Thomas,  70-1; 
Wesley,  John,  426. 

His  character,  general  traits, 
and  mode  of  living. — Abstemi- 
ous, not  temperate,  128,  448; 
acquisition,  powers  of,  442; 
affectation,  abhorrence  of,  445; 
almsgiving,  178;  amusements, 
427;  anecdotes,  love  of,  140; 
arguing,  habit  of,  172,  294,  402, 
464,   512;    attention   to   smaU. 


568 


INDEX 


things,  487;  behavior  In  com- 
pany, 305;  benevolence,  42- 
235-6,  356,  387,  414,  487,  530; 
bigotry,  freedom  from,  102, 
184,  347;  books,  fondness  for, 
253 ;  and  manner  of  using  them, 
196,  377;  calculation,  fondness 
for,  41,  245,  354;  candor,  488, 
503;  character,  331,402-3,  504, 
506,  559;  charity  to  the  poor, 
42,  471.  487,  517,  530;  chemis- 
try, fond  of,  115,  427,  503; 
children,  love  of,  488;  church, 
attendance  at,  15,  189,  200,  291, 
295-6,  384,  391,  428,  473,  490, 
493;  complaints,  not  given  to, 
249;  conversation,  47-8,  172, 
210,  214,  236,  237,  265,  322-3, 
331,  369,  394,  405,  444,  460, 
464-5,  466,  477-8,  484-5,  486, 
521-2;  courage,  anecdotes  of 
his,  230;  death,  dread  of,  169, 
230,  332.  510,  515,  550;  dress, 
45-6,  58,  97,  260,  261,  286,  398, 
532;  eating,  habits  of,  127-8, 
310,  387.  448.  534;  female 
charms,  sensible  to,  22,  314, 
336,  430,  470,  513,  520;  for- 
eigners, prejudice  against,  441; 
forgiving  disposition,  227,  266; 
fortitude,  504,  523,  555;  good- 
humored,  249,  314,  461;  good- 
natured,  252;  hilarity,  17,  225- 
6,  256;  humlUty,  555;  idle- 
ness, his  supposed,  10,  18,  60, 
112,  125,  126,  132.  182,  227, 
435 ;  insight  into  character,  293 ; 
irascibility,  252,  518;  kindness 
to  others,  107,  150,  278,  296, 
414,  488;  and  to  animals,  489; 
ladies,  could  be  very  agreeable 
to,  449;  law,  knowledge  of, 
293;  UberaUty,  487;  liberty, 
love  of,  5,  110.  156.  189;  liter- 
ature, love  and  respect  for,  12, 
16,  17;  madness,  dreaded,  14; 
melancholy,  4.  14.  319,  409, 
523;  memory,  powers  of,  6-6, 
10,  440;  metaphysics,  fond  of, 
16;  moderation  in  his  char- 
acter, absence  of,  448;  music, 
how  affected  by,  262,  352,  362, 
443;  passion,  fits  of,  480,  630; 
peculiarities  of  conduct  and 
temperament.  22,  33.  133.  237, 


309,  332,  374,  413,  447.  448, 
463,  532;  personal  appearance. 
60,  124,  130,  261,  413,  447,  487; 
piety,  early,  habitual,  and  sys- 
tematic, 15,  16,  74-5,  130,  182, 
195,  256,  319-20,  419,  433,  446, 
472,  495,  511,  515,  654;  poUte- 
ness,  20,  71,  147,  256,  403,  405, 
469;  disliked  extravagant 
praise,  367,  453;  pride,  defen- 
sive, 66;  provincial  accent,  186, 
278;  puns,  aversion  to,  528; 
questioning  disliked,  306,  372; 
reading,  amount  and  rapidity 
of  his,  12,  16,  118,  127,  147,  207, 
209,  287,  377,  497,  526,  654; 
residences,  430  n.;  romances, 
love  of.  11;  roughness  of  man- 
ner. 20,  142.  158-9,  262,  266, 
406.  516,  621;  sight,  his,  6-7, 
374,  526;  society,  love  of  mix- 
ing with,  19,  20,  235,  246,  508; 
sophistry,  love  of,  166;  speak- 
ing, impressive  mode  of,  237, 
373;  spirit,  lofty,  546;  swear- 
ing, dislike  of,  347;  tea,  fond- 
ness for,  108;  tenderness  of 
heart,  169,  296,  637;  truth- 
futaess,  216,  264,  357;  wine, 
use  of,  266,  301,  363,  387,  399- 
402.  430.  448;  wit.  210; 
world,  knowledge  of  the.  111, 
293;  young  people,  love  of, 
118. 

His  works. — Manner  of  com- 
posing his  Poetical  Works,  27, 
43,  143;  his  other  Works,  37, 
47,  81,  82,  302;  rapidity  of 
composition,  17,  37,  47,  81,  82, 
143,  469,  554 ;  wrote  by  fits  and 
starts,  654;  never  wrote  fair 
copies,  446,  526. 

Style. — Formed  on  writers  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  60; 
precision,  487;  criticised  by 
himself,  436-7;  Imitations  of, 
649-50. 

Johnson,        Sarah         (Johnson's 
mother),  3.  7.  81.  650. 

Johnson's  Court,  138,  209.  263. 

Johnsoniana,  or  Bon-Mots  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  264,  398. 

Jones,  Phil.,  269. 

Jorden,  Rev.  William  (Johnson's 
tutor),  13,  68, 


INDEX 


569 


Journal,  how  it  should  be  kept, 
113.  202,  481. 

Journal  des"  Savants,  148. 

Journey  to  the  Western  Islands  of 
Scotland,  227-8,  231-2,  234, 
252-3,  320,  383,  398,  414. 

Judges,  244. 

Junius,  authorship  of,  418. 

Kames,  Lord  (Henry  Home),  35, 
155. 

Kemble,  John,  504-6. 

Kempis,  Thomas  §,,  515. 

Kindness,  duty  of  cultivating  it, 
343. 

Kings,  109,  117,  147,  189. 

Knitting,  362. 

Knowledge,  desire  of  it  innate, 
122;  diffusion  of  it  not  a  dis- 
advantage, 403-4. 

Knowles,  Mrs.,  the  Quakeress, 
314,  377-82. 

Langton,  Bennet,  account  of  him, 
58-9;  a  'frisk,'  60-1;  Johnson 
visits  him  at  Langton,  130;  at 
Rochester,  442-3,  502;  at  War- 
ley  Camp,  413;  djnners  and 
suppers  at  his  house,  375-6, 
406-7;  his  expenditure  and 
foibles  criticised,  321,  392,  393; 
his  attention  to  Johnson  in  his 
last  illness,  553;  present  at  his 
fimeral,  558;  his  reminiscences 
of  Johnson,  9,  81,436-46;  men- 
tioned, 222,  241,  245,  247,  300. 

Langton,  Mrs.  (Bennet  Lang- 
tons  mother),  79,  130,  436. 

Langton,  Miss  Jane,  Johnson's 
god-daughter,  511. 

Langton,  old  Mr.  (Bennet  Lang- 
ton's  father),  112.  130,  436, 

Language,  formed  on  manners, 
163-4;  origin,  492;  scanty  and 
inadequate,  497;  speaking  one 
imperfectly  lets  a  man  down, 
260. 

Latin,  essential  to  a  good  educa- 
tion, 122. 

Laughers,  time  to  be  si)ent  with 
them,  484. 

Laughter.  256,  407. 

Law,  the  study  and  practice  of, 
525. 

Law,  William,  15,  16. 


Lawrence.  Dr.  Thomas,  79,  294,  ' 

432,  473,  501. 
Lawyers,  140,  185,  212,  244,  256„ 

387,  525. 
Learning,  118,  122.  496. 
Lectures,  139,  456. 
Lee,  Arthur,  309,  313. 
Leeds,  Duke  of,  440. 
Levellers,  119. 
Levett,  Robert,  56,  58^  87",   TOT,. 

114,    138,    200,   293,   396,   414; 

his  death,  473;  Johnson.'s  lines> 

on  him,  477,  512. 
Lewis,  F.,  51. 

Lexicographer,  defined,  74.. 
Libels,  290. 
Liberty,  155-6,  188,  217,.  2I9-20, 

420,  496. 
Lichfield,  3,  4,  8,  9,  15,  18;  23a, 

314;     Johnson's   visits   to,   87, 

153,  181,  472,  543,  545-6. 
Lies,  115,  205. 
Life,  general  refiections  on,  197, 

365-6,  523. 
Lincolnshire,  414,  491. 
Lintot  the  yoimger,  115. 
Literary  Club,  list  of  members,. 

131-2;    Johnson's  attendances-- 

at,  144,  222,  234,  358,  439,  454; 

his     last     dinner     there,     532;; 

mentioned,  212,  214,  239,  325,. 

372,    375,    434,    440,    446,    484„ 

559. 
Literary  fame,  211,  250. 
Literary  Journals,  148. 
Literary  property,  245,  415. 
Literary  reputation,  211. 
Literature,  state  of,  390,  403-4. 
Lives  of  the  Poets,  323,  327,  408, 

415-7,  423,  432,  446-8,  461. 
Lives  of  the  Poets,  by  Theophilus 

Cibber,  42. 
Lloyd,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sampson,  274. 
Lobo's  Abyssinia,  289. 
Lochlomond,  420,  483. 
LoflTt,  Capel,  515. 
London,  a  Poem,  30-1,  44. 
London,   its  immensity  and  "va- 
riety,  108,   160,   181,  202,  248,. 

293,  428;    its  advantages  and 

superiority   over    the    coimtry,. 

366;  livingin,  26,  204,  248,  493;; 

Boswell's  love  of,  126,  181,  287„ 

341,  364;  Johnson's  love  of,  76. 

160,  178,  287.  341,  544,  546. 


670 


INDEX 


Long.  Dudley  (afterwards  North), 

449,  452. 
Loughborough,    Lord    (Alexander 

Wedderbume,  afterwards  Earl 

of  Rosslyn),  88-9,  255. 
Louis  XIV.  149,  189. 
Louis  XVI.  258. 
Love,  passion  of,  275. 
Lucan.  first  Earl  of,  132,  434,  532. 
Lucan.  Lady,  434,  532. 
Luton  Hoe,  466,  469. 
Luxury,  188,  202,  357. 

Macaulay,   Mrs.   Catherine,   119, 

203.  240,  302,  314,  344. 
Macbean,    Alexander,    Johnson's 

amanuensis,  42,  198,  296,  457. 
Macclesfield,  Countess  of,  39. 
Macpherson,  James,  96,  229-31, 

233,  245.  304,  484. 
Madness,  14,  97.  296. 
'Mahogany',  a  drink.  450. 
Malagrida,  481. 

MaUet,  David,67. 80, 187, 210,496. 
Malone,   Edmond,  51,  471,  532, 

557. 
Man,  378,  448. 
Mankind,  115,  359. 
Manley,  Mrs.,  490. 
Manners,  412. 
Mansfield,  William  Murray,  first 

Earl  of,  186.  194,  197,  234,  329, 

371,  482. 
Marchmont.  Hugh,  fourth  Earl  of, 

407-9,  425. 
Marie  Antoinette,  258. 
Marlborough,  John,  first  Duke  of, 

271    306 
Marriage,    161,    177,   275-6,   283, 

287. 
Martyrdom,  218,  440. 
Marylebone  Gardens,  531. 
Mason,  Rev.  William,  2,  380,  527. 
Materialism,  184. 
Matter,  non-existence  of,  130. 
Maxwell,  Rev.  Dr.,  Collectanea  of 

Johnson,  177-81. 
Mayo,  Rev.  Dr.,  217-20. 
Melancholy,  14,  268,  287.  340-1. 
Merit,  116-18.  480. 
Metcalfe,  Philip,  471.  475. 
Methodists,  123,  178-9,  194. 
Meynell.  'old.'  441. 
M^ckle.  WilUam  JuUus.  193.  299, 

506,  524. 


Middle  Class.  259. 

Middlesex  election,  430. 

Milton,  John.  51,  429,  448,  523. 

532. 
Miracles,  346. 
Misery.  296,  352.  523. 
Modem   times,    better    than   an- 
cient. 496. 
Modesty,  how  far  natural,  411. 
Monboddo.  Lord.   160.  203,  339, 

512. 
Monckton,  Hon.  Mary  (Countess 

of  Cork).  463. 
Money.   188.  248.  341,  343,  371, 

420,  441.  468. 
Montagu,    Mrs.,    168,    180.    446, 

449,  513. 
Monlhly  Review.  149. 
Moody,  the  player,  242-3. 
More.  Hannah.  367,  458-9,  462, 

513,  523. 
Morris.  Mi.ss.  557. 
Mounsey.  Dr..  157. 
Mudge,  Rev.  Zachariah.  90.  459. 
Murphy,  Arthur,  85,  89,  507,  512. 
Music,  352,  442. 

"Necessity,  doctrine  of,  447. 
Newgate  Gaol,  330. 
Newspapers,  189,  199.  315. 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  121,  179,  379. 
Nichols.  John.  464.  507,  530.  654. 

Ode  to  Mrs.  Thrale.  a  caricature, 

550. 
Ode    to    the     Warlike    Genius    of 

Britain,  416. 
Ofellus,  26. 

Ogilvie.  Dr.  John,  109-10. 
Oglethorpe,    General,    30,    191-3, 

202,  210-2,  247,  304-5,  479. 
Old  age,  349,  366,  405. 
Oliver,  Dame,  8. 
Omai,  289. 

Oratory,  199,  241,  461. 
Orchards,  491. 
Osborne,  Thomas,  36,  408. 
Ossian.     See  Macpherson,  James. 
OstenUtion,  127. 
Otahelte,  217.  524. 
Oxford.      146,      163,      255,     466; 

Christ  Church.  13,  19,  68,  146. 

269;   Pembroke  College,  12,  67. 

384.  386;    Trinity  CoUege,  68; 

Johnson,  as  undergraduate,  12, 


INDEX 


571 


13, 15-19. 68; — presents  Works, 
18; — receives  M.A.,  D.C.L.,  70, 
240;  — visits,  67-70,  84,  151-5, 
268-71,  472,  517-26,  547. 

Painting,  267.  529. 

Pantheon,  187-8. 

Paoli,   General,   159,   163-4,   187, 

195,  204-6,  224,  298,  304,  397, 

425,  460,  534-5. 
Parliament.  29,  430,  497. 
Parsimony.  394. 
Patriotism,  246. 
Patrons,  of  authors,  62-6,  480. 
Pennant,  Thomas,  246,  373-5. 
Pension,  defined,  73,  88-90,  112, 

465-6,      528,      532-4,      536-42, 

544-5. 
Percy,  Dr  Thomas,  10-11,  17,  32, 

157,  274,  367,  373-5,  394,  459. 
Peyton,    Johnson's    amanuensis, 

42,  185. 
Pig,  a  learned,  546. 
Piozzi,  Mrs.     See  Thrale,  Mrs. 
Piozzi,  Signor,  539 
Pitt,     William.     See     Chatham, 

Earl  of. 
Pity,  not  natural  to  man,  115. 
Plantations  (settlements),  141. 
Players  and  the  art  of  acting,  38, 

45,  211,  260,  343,  505. 
Pleasure,  363,  399,  424,  528. 
Poetry,  200,  247,  299,  334,  367-8. 
Politics,  255. 
Pope,    Alexander,    13,    30-3,   68, 

138,    165-6,    214,    240,    366-7, 

403,  407-9,  438. 
Port,  liquor  for  men,  419,  451. 
Porter,     Miss    Lucy     (Johnson's 

step-daughter),  6,  53,  277,  281- 

2,  490,  546,  550. 
Portraits,  Johnson's,  94,  181,  483. 
Poverty,  a  great  evil,  117,  335. 
Praise,  357,  453. 
Prayer,  191,  521. 
Prayers,  by  Johnson,  47,  61,  132; 

before  study,  74,  134,  318-19; 

death  of  his  wife,  52,  53;    for 

Catherine  Chambers,  150;  New 

Year,  61;    birthday,  132;    Eas- 
ter, 319;  last  commimion,  556. 
Presbyterians,  184. 
Press,  liberty  of,  29,  156. 
Priestley,  Dr.  Joseph,  503. 
Printing,  189. 


Prior,  Matthew,  163,  349. 

Prltchard,  Mrs.,  the  actress,  45, 
169,  246,  505. 

Prologues  at  Drury  Lane  Thea- 
tre, 40,  51,  443. 

Pronunciation,  Irish,  Scotch, 
literary,  and  provincial,  186. 

Prostitution,  severe  laws  needed, 
122,  291. 

Psalraanazar,  George,  392,  486, 
512. 

Public  amusements,  188. 

Purgatory,  174. 

Quakers,  125,  381,  494. 
Quality,  women  of,  412. 
Quotations,  461. 

Rabelais,  210,  367. 

Rambler,  46-51,  58,  85,  302,  432, 
437,  455,  525,  531. 

Ramsay,  Allan,  the  elder,  204. 

Ramsay,  Allan,  the  son,  por- 
trait-painter, 402-5,  420,  430.,., 

Ranelagh,  178,  525. 

Rank,  119. 

Rasselas,  81-2,  466. 

Reading,  advice  and  observa- 
tions on,  17,  112,  118,  207,  251, 
302,  349,  422,  442,  524. 

RebeUion  of  1745-6,  34,  39.  337. 

Rehearsal,  The,  529. 

Religion,  remarks  on,  171,  381-2, 
440,  496. 

Reynolds,  Miss,  79.  367,  394-5. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  37-8,  57-8, 
90-1,  149,  165-7,  210-12,  245, 
300,  317,  370,  383,  390-1,  399- 
402, 423-5,  434,  445,  449,  458-9, 
471,  476,  482,  507,  527-8,  529, 
530,  533,  537-41,  544-5,  555; 
dinners,  364,  394-7,  405-6,  419, 
450-1,  535,  538;  on  Johnson, 
33,  37,  47,  57,  89,  484;  por- 
traits, 94,  181,  483. 

Rhyme,  essential  to  English 
poetry,  368. 

Richardson,  Samuel,  35,  87,  152, 
190,  343,  392,  436,  445. 

Ridicule,  418. 

Rising  early,  339. 

Robertson,  Dr.  William,  153.  210, 
213-4,  402-5. 

Rochester,  Wilmot,  second  Earl 
of,  349. 


572 


INDEX 


Roman  Catholidsm  and  Roman 
Catholics,  127,  173-5.  184,  222, 
243,  291. 

Romances,  11. 

Rome  and  the  Romans,  187, 
291-2,  298,  404. 

Roimd  Robin,  the,  316-8. 

Roiisseau,  J.  J.,  115-7,  140,  201. 

Rudd,  Mrs.,  315. 

SachevereU,  Rev.  Dr.  Henry,  5. 

Sagacity,  536. 

Sailors,  84,  266. 

St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  116,  189, 
201,  214,  250,  295,  456. 

Saints,  invocation  of,  174. 

Salamanca,  University  of,  121. 

Salusbnry,  Mrs.  (Mrs.  Thrale's 
mother),  405. 

Salvation,  522-3. 

Savage,  Richard,  36-9,  324,  519. 

Savages,  115,  160,  208,  217,  286, 
493,  524. 

Schools,  discipline  in,  193-4,  262, 
526. 

Scotland  and  the  Scotch,  162, 168, 
186,  233,  313-14,  322,  362: 
character  of  people,  162,  233, 
237,  424,  432,  439,  460-1,  504; 
Church,  123,  126;  education, 
153,  252-3;  Johnson  and  the 
Scotch,  41-2,  110,  162,  226-7, 
231-3,  252-3,  314,  340,  364, 
410,  424,  432,  439,  460,  478, 
485;  laws  and  institutions,  286, 
313-14,  4P0. 

Scott,  Dr.  (afterwards  Sir  William 
Scott,  and  Lord  Stowell),  124, 
132,  268,  370,  389,  456,  486. 

Scotticisms,  160,  168. 

Scripture  phrases,  200. 

Second  sight,  184,  234. 

Selden,  John,  186. 

Seward,  Miss  Anna,  377,  546. 

Seward,  Rev.  Mr.,  of  Lichfield. 
280,   283,   331. 

Seward,  William.  F.R.S.,  161, 
232,  338,  350,  495. 

Sexes,  291,  378. 

Shakespeare,  Johnson's  edition, 
76.  137. 

Shakespeare,  William,  80,  166-8, 
370,  441,  443-4;  Hamlet,  16, 
448;  Henry  VIII,  606;  Mac- 
beth,     168,      246.      420.      551; 


Othello,  301;    Timon  of  Athens. 

444. 
Shenstone,  William,  18. 
Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley,  132, 

254,  324. 
Sheridan,  Thomas  (father  of  R.  B. 

Sheridan),  89,  92-3,   167,  235, 

478,  495,  499,  528,  534. 
Shlels,  R.,  Johnson's  amanuensis, 

42,  56,  299. 
Ship,  worse  than  a  gaol,  84,  266. 
Shorthand,  206,  373,  478. 
Siddons,  Mrs.,  visits  Johnson,  504 

-5. 
Simpson,  Joseph,  83. 
Sixteen-strlng  Jack,  300. 
Slavery,  353. 
Sleep,  339,  437. 
Smart,  Christopher  (Kit),  97,  245. 

488. 
Smith,  Adam,  16,   111,  402,  443. 
Smollett,  Dr.  Tobias,  84. 
Snakes,  in  Iceland,  375. 
Society,  116-17,  185.  217,  239. 
Socrates,  371. 

Soldiers,  164,  202,  371,  413-4. 
South  Sea,  289,  524. 
Southlll,  63,  466-70. 
Spain,  121. 

Spectator,  The,  160,  193,  444. 
Spenser,  Edmimd,  214. 
Spleen,  The,  300,  429. 
Spottiswoode,  John,  399. 
Staffordshire,  178,  276,  491. 
Stanhope,    Mr.     (Lord    Chester- 
field's son),  535. 
Statuary,  267. 

Steele,  Sir  Richard,  237,  270. 
Steevens,  George,  132,  155,  176. 

177,  234,  349,  423,  531. 
Sterne,  Rev.  Laurence,  204,  271. 
Stourbridge,  11. 
Strahan,   Rev.   George,  Vicar  of 

IsUngton,  52,  511,  556. 
Strahan,     William,     the     King's 

Printer,   207,   226,  235-6,  323. 

368,  402,  427,  530. 
Stratford-on-Avon,  273,  282-3. 
Streatham,    visits    to,    162,    261. 

357,  364,  408,  410,  425,  472,  475. 
Stuart,  the  House  of,  39,  112,  204, 

477. 
Study,  method  of,  16,  104,  112, 

123,  439. 
Style  in  composition,  362,  368. 


INDEX 


573 


Subordination,  104,  117,  119,  203, 
239,  314.  399,  412,  420. 

Suicide,  208,  218. 

Sunday,  74,  256. 

Swearing,  the  habit  of,  300,  347. 

Swift,  Jonathan,  121,  168,  234-5, 
391. 

Swinfen,  Dr.  Samuel,  14,  19. 

Sympathy,  169-70,  281-2. 

Taste,  527,  539. 

Taverns,  272,  449. 

Taxation  no   Tyranny,   233,   240, 

353,  376. 

Taylor,  Rev.  Dr.  John,  8,  18,  38, 
44,  54,  55,  284-6,  304,  326-7, 
331-5,    340,    342,    345-9,    352, 

354,  C56,  510,  547,  559. 
Teaching,  21,  496. 

Temple,  Rev.  William  Johnson, 
115,  140,  217,  255. 

Temple,  Sir  William,  211,  368, 
402. 

Tenantry,  125. 

Thames,  122-3,  264,  444. 

Theobald,  Lewis,  80. 

Thinking,  liberty  of,  217,  220. 

Thrale,  Henry,  134-7,  159,  162, 
199,  207-10,  216,  237-8,  246, 
258,  263,  281-3,  288,  291-2, 
294-5,  297-300,  302,  364,  408, 
415,  451-2,  454-5,  475,  539-40. 

Thrale,  Henry  (son  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Thrale),  281-3. 

Thrale,  Hest«r  Lynch  (afterwards 
Mrs.  Piozzi),  106,  136-7,  159, 
162-3,  200,  207,  246-7,  257-8, 
263,  281,  283,  286,  302,  357-8, 
362,  364,  393,  398,  408-9,  416, 
448,  450,  452^,  466,  475-8, 
501,  514,  534,  539,  540,  546,  550. 

Thurlow,  first  Lord,  245,  293,  435, 
526,  533,  536,  540.  545. 

Toleration,  217-21,  440,  496. 

Toplady,  Rev.  Mr.,  217,  221. 

Tories  and  Toryism,  73,  398,  520. 

Townshend,  Right  Hon.  Charles, 
204. 

Townshend,  Right  Hon.  Thomas, 
628. 

Trade,  remarks  on,  135,  191,  202. 

Translations,  299,  367. 

Travellers,  ancient  and  modem, 
359,  383. 

Travelling,  113,  298,  411. 


Trinity,  doctrine  of  the,  221. 
Truth,  357-8,  395,  498. 
Tyers,  Thomas,  388. 

Universal  Visiter,  245. 
University,    should    be   a   school 

where  everything  may  be  learnt, 

153,  255,  289. 
Uttoxeter  Marker,  545. 

Vails,  162. 

Valetudinarians,  275,  287,  331. 

Vanity  of  Human    Wishes,  43—4, 

143. 
Vauxhall  Gardens,  388. 
Versailles,  258. 
Vesey,  Right  Hon.  Agmondesham. 

131,  234,  434,  445. 
Virgil,  350,  403. 
Virtue,  113,  205,  499. 
Vivacity,  an  art,  277. 
Voltaire,  82,   114,  138.  141,  370. 

403. 
Vows,  413. 

Wales,  136,  184,  228. 

Wall,  taking  the,  28. 

Waller,  Edmimd,  154,  251,  392. 

Wahnsley,  Gilbert,  19-20,  280. 

Walpole,  Horace,  527. 

Walpole,    Sir    Robert,    197,    306, 

452,  527. 
War,  371. 
Warburton,    William,    Bishop   of 

Gloucester,  65,  80,  147,  519. 
Warley  Camp,  413. 
Warton,  Rev.  Dr.  Joseph,  Head 

Master  of  Winchester  College, 

79,  132,  149. 
Warton,    Rev.    Thomas,    67-71, 

131,  270,  527. 
Waste,  393. 
Watts,  Dr.  Isaac,  415. 
Wealth,  465,  480. 
Weather  and  seasons.   111,   120, 

249,  387. 
Wedderbume,     Alexander.       See 

Loughborough,  Lord. 
Wesley,  Rev.  Charles,  381. 
Wesley,  Rev.  John,  358,  381,  426. 

456. 
Westminster    Abbey,    214,    317, 

517,  558. 
WethereU,    Rev.    Dr.,    249,    268, 

524. 


574 


INDEX 


Whigs,  and  Whlgglsm,  69,  73. 
398.  446,  499,  520. 

Whitefleld,  Rev.  George,  18,  163, 
431. 

Whole  Duty  of  Man,  15. 

Wife,  48,  161,  180. 

Willces,  Jolin,  84-5,  96,  140,  306- 
15,  343,  397,  423,  460-2.  496. 

WilUam  III,  243. 

Williams,  Anna,  35,  51,  56,  79, 
80,  87,  95,  162,  182,  199,  207. 
251.  259.  265,  296,  308-9,  315. 
322,  356,  373,  414,  456-7,  494; 
deatii,  503,  510;  Johnson's  re- 
gard for,  108.  308-9.  407.  503-4; 
—  takes  tea  with  her.  108,  125, 


162.  172.  184,  187,  200,  249, 
288.  391.  479. 

WUton.  255. 

Windham,  Right  Hon.  William, 
132.  485,  507,  514,  553,  555.  559. 

Wine,  its  effect  on  different  per- 
sons. 194.  196,  265-6,  30O-1, 
340,  363,  399,  419,  501. 

Wirtemberg,  Prince  of.  192. 

Witches,  420. 

Wofflngton.  Margaret  (Peg).  371. 

World,  The.  63. 

Yonge,  Sir  William,  133. 
Young.    Dr.    Edward,    171.    387, 
466-8. 


THE  MODERN 
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This  series  is  composed  of  such  works  as  are  conspicuous  in  the 
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A  WEEK  ON  THE  CONCORD  AND 

MERRIMAC  RIVERS 

By  Henry  David  Thoreau 

With  an  Introduction  by 
ODELL  SHEPARD 

Professor  of  English  at  Trinity  College 

"...  Here  was  a  man  who  stood  with  his  head  in  the  clouds, 
perhaps,  but  with  his  feet  firmly  planted  on  rubble  and  grit.  He 
was  true  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  and  Home.  Thoreau's 
eminently  practical  thought  was  really  concerned,  in  the  last  anal- 
ysis with  definite  human  problems.  The  major  question  how  to  live 
was  at  the  end  of  all  his  vistas." 

EMERSON'S  ESSAYS 

Selected  and  edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by 
ARTHUR  HOBSON  QUINN 

Professor  of  English  and  Dean  of  the  College  University  of 
Pennsylvania 

"Among  the  shifting  values  in  our  literary  history,  Emerson  stands 
secure.  As  a  people  we  are  rather  prone  to  underestimate  our  native 
writers  in  relation  to  English  and  continental  authors,  but  even 
among  those  who  have  been  content  to  treat  our  literatute  as  a  by- 
product of  British  letters,  Emjrson's  significance  has  become  only 
more  apparent  with  time." 


THE  MODERN  STUDENTS  LIBRARY 

THE  ESSAYS  OF 
ADDISON  AND  STEELE 

Selected  and  edited  by 
WILL  D.  HOWE 

Professor  of  English  at  Indiana  University 

With  the  writings  of  these  two  remarkable  essayists  modem  prose 
began.  It  is  not  merely  that  their  style  even  to-day,  after  two  cen- 
turies, commands  attention,  it  is  equally  noteworthy  that  these 
men  were  among  the  first  to  show  the  possibilities  of  our  language 
in  developing  a  reading  public. 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  AND 
JONATHAN  EDWARDS 

With  an  Introduction  by 
CARL  VAN  DOREN 

Franklin  and  Edwards  often  sharply  contrasted  in  thought  are, 
however,  in  the  main,  complimentary  to  each  other.  In  religion, 
Franklin  was  the  utilitarian,  Edwards  the  mystic.  Franklin  was 
more  interested  in  practical  morality  than  in  revelation;  Edwards 
sought  a  spiritual  exaltation  in  religious  ecstasy.  In  science  Frank- 
lin was  the  practical  experimenter,  Edwards  the  detached  observer, 
the  theoretical  investigator  of  causes. 

THE 
HEART  OF  MIDLOTHIAN 

By  Sir  Walter  Scott 

With  an  Introduction  by 
WILLIAM  P.  TRENT 

Professor  of  English  at  Columbia  University 

Universally  admitted  one  of  the  world's  greatest  story-tellers, 
Scott  himself  considered  "The  Heart  of  Midlothian"  his  master- 
piece, and  it  has  been  accepted  as  such  by  most  of  his  admirers. 


THE  MODERN  STUDENT'S  LIBRARY 

THE  ORDEAL  OF 

RICHARD  FEVEREL 

By  George  Meredith 

With  an  Introduction  by 
FRANK  W.  CHANDLER 

Professor  of  English  at  the  University  of  Cincinnati 

"The  Ordeal  of  Richard  Feverel,"  published  in  1859,  was  Mere- 
dith's first  modern  novel  and  probably  his  best.  Certainly  it  was, 
and  has  remained,  the  most  generally  popular  of  all  this  author's 
books  and  among  the  works  of  its  type  it  stands  pre-eminent.  The 
story  embodies  in  the  most  beautiful  form  the  idea  that  in  life  the 
whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth  is  best. 

MEREDITH'S 
ESSAY  ON  COMEDY 

Wth  an  Introduction,  Notes,  and  Biographical  Sketch  by 
LANE  COOPER 

Professor  of  English  at  Cornell  University 

"Good  comedies,"  Meredith  tells  us,  "are  such  rare  productions 
that,  notwithstanding  the  wealth  of  our  literature  in  the  comic 
element,  it  would  not  occupy  us  long  to  run  over  the  English  list." 

The  "Essay  on  Comedy"  is  in  a  peculiarly  intimate  way  the  ex- 
position of  Meredith's  attitude  toward  life  and  art.  It  helps  us  to 
understand  more  adequately  the  subtle  delicacies  of  his  novels. 

CRITICAL  ESSAYS  OF  THE 
NINETEENTH   CENTURY 

Selected  and  edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by 
RAYMOND  M.  ALDEN 

Professor  of  English  at  Leland  Stanford  University 

The  essays  in  this  volume  include  those  of  Wordsworth,  Copleston, 
Jeffrey,  Scott,  Coleridge,  Lockhart,  Lamb,  Hazlitt,  Byron,  Shelley, 
Newman,  DeQuincey,  Macaulay,  Wilson,  and  Hunt. 


_      THE  MODERN  STUDENTS  LIBRARY 

ENGLISH  POETS  OF  THE 
EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 

Selected  and  Edited  by 
ERNEST  BERNBAUM 

Professor  of  English  at  the  University  of  Illinois 

The  great  age  of  the  eighteenth  century  is,  more  than  any  other, 
perhaps,  mirrored  in  its  poetry,  and  this  anthology  reveals  its  man- 
ners and  ideals. 

While  the  text  of  the  various  poems  is  authentic,  it  is  not  bur- 
dened with  scholastic  editing  and  marginal  comment.  The  collec- 
tion and  its  form  is  one  which  satisfies  in  an  unusual  way  the  in- 
terest of  the  general  reader  as  well  as  that  of  the  specialist. 

PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS 
By  John  Bunyan 

With  an  Introduction  and  Notes  by 
DR.  S.  M.  CROTHERS 

This  book  is  one  of  the  most  vivid  and  entertaining  in  the  English 
language,  one  that  has  been  read  more  than  any  ottier  in  our  lan- 
guage, except  the  Bible. 

PRIDE  AND  PREJUDICE 
By  Jane  Austen 

With  an  Introduction  by 
WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWELLS 

To  have  this  masterpiece  of  realistic  literature  introduced  by  so 
eminent  a  critic  as  William  Dean  Howells  is,  in  itself,  an  event  in 
the  literary  world.  We  cannot  better  comment  upon  the  edition 
than  by  quoting  from  Mr.  Howells's  introduction: 

He  says:  "When  I  came  to  read  the  book  the  tenth  or  fifteenth 
time  for  the  purposes  of  this  introduction,  I  found  it  as  fresh  as  when 
I  read  it  first  in  1889,  after  long  shying  off  from  it." 


THE  MODERN  STUDENTS  LIBRARY 


NINETEENTH  CENTURY  LETTERS 

Selected  and  edited  by 
BYRON  JOHNSON  REES 

Professor  of  English  at  Williams  College 

Contains  letters  from  Blake,  Wordsworth,  Smith,  Southey,  Lamb, 
Irving,  Keats,  Emerson,  Lincoln,  Thackeray,  Huxley,  Meredith, 
"Lewis  Carroll,"  Phillips  Brooks,  Sidney  Lanier,  and  Stevenson. 

PAST  AND  PRESENT 

By  Thomas  Carlyle 

With  an  Introduction  by 
EDWIN  W.  MIMS 

Professor  of  English  at  Vaaderbilt  University 

"Past  and  Present,"  written  in  1843,  when  the  industrial  revolu- 
tions had  just  taken  place  in  England  and  when  democracy  and 
freedom  were  the  watchwords  of  liberals  and  progressives,  reads  like 
a  contemporary  volume  on  industrial  and  social  problems. 

BOSWELL'S  LIFE  OF  JOHNSON 

Abridged  and  edited,  with  an  Introductibn  and  Notes,  by 
CHARLES  G.  OSGOOD 

Professor  of  English  at  Princeton  University 

Seldom  has  an  abridgment  been  made  with  as  great  skill  in  omit- 
ting nothing  vital  and  keeping  proper  proportions  as  this  edition  by 
Professor  Osgood. 

AMERICAN  BALLADS  AND  SONGS 

Collected  and  edited  by 
LOUISE  POUND 

Professor  of  English,  University  of  Nebraska 

An  anthology  intended  to  present  to  lovers  of  traditional  songs  such 
selections  as  illustrate  the  main  classics  and  types  having  currency  in 
English-speaking  North  America.  It  includes  a  number  of  imported 
ballads  and  songs.  Western  songs,  dialogue  and  nursery  songs,  etc. 


THE  MODERN  STUDENT'S  LIBRARY 


BACON'S  ESSAYS  ""^ 

Selected,  with  an  Introduction  and  Notes,  by 
MARY  AUGUSTA  SCOTT 

Late  Professor  of  English  Literature  at  Smith  College 

These  essays,  the  distilled  wisdom  of  a  great  observer  upon  the 
afiPairs  of  common  life,  are  of  endless  interest  and  pro6t.  The  more 
one  reads  them  the  more  remarkable  seem  their  compactness  and 
their  vitality. 


ADAM  BEDE 
By  George  Eliot 

With  an  Introduction  by 
LAURA  J.  WYLIE 

Professor  of  English  at  Vassar  College 

With  the  publication  of  "Adam  Bede"  in  1859,  it  was  evident 
both  to  England  and  America  that  a  great  novelist  had  appeared. 
**Adam  Bede"  is  the  most  natural  of  George  Eliot's  books,  simple 
in  problem,  direct  in  action,  with  the  freshness  and  strength  of  the 
Derbyshire  landscape  and  character  and  speech  in  its  pages. 


THE  RING  AND  THE  BOOK 
By  Robert  Browning 

With  an  Introduction  by 
FREDERICK  MORGAN  PADELFORD 

Professor  of  English  at  Washington  University 

"  'The  Ring  and  the  Book,'  "  says  Dr.  Padelford  in  his  introduc- 
tion, "is  Browning's  supreme  literary  achievement.  It  was  written 
after  the  poet  had  attained  complete  mastery  of  his  very  individual 
style;  it  absorbed  his  creative  activity  for  a  prolonged  period;  and  it 
issued  with  the  stamp  of  his  characteristic  genius  on  every  page." 


THE  MODERN  STUDENT'S  LIBRARY 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON'S 

ESSAYS 

With  an  Introduction  by 
WILLIAM  LYON  PHELPS 

Professor  of  English  at  Yale  University 

This  volume  includes  not  only  essays  in  formal  literary  criticism, 
but  also  of  personal  monologue  and  gossip,  as  well  as  philosophical 
essays  on  the  greatest  themes  that  can  occupy  the  mind  of  man.  All 
reveal  the  complex,  whimsical,  humorous,  romantic,  imaginative, 
puritanical  personality  now  known  everywhere  by  the  formula 
R.  L.  S. 

PENDENNIS 
By  Thackeray 

With  an  Introduction  by 
ROBERT  MORSS  LOVETT 

Professor  of  English  at  the  University  of  Chicago 

"Pendennis"  stands  as  a  great  representative  of  biographical 
fiction  and  reflects  more  of  the  details  of  Thackeray's  life  than  all 
his  other  writings.  Of  its  kind  there  is  probably  no  more  interesting 
book  in  our  literature. 

THE 

RETURN  OF  THE  NATIVE 

By  Thomas  Hardy 

With  an  Introduction  and  Notes  by 
JOHN  W.  CUNLIFFE 

Professor  of  English  at  Columbia  University 

■  re. 

"The  Return  of  the  Native"  is  probably  Thomas  Hardy's  great 
tragic  masterpiece.  It  carries  to  the  highest  perfection  the  rare 
genius  of  the  finished  writer.  It  presents  in  the  most  remarkable 
way  Hardy's  interpretation  of  nature  in  which  there  is  a  perfect 
unison  between  the  physical  world  and  the  human  character. 


THE  MODERN  STUDENTS  LIBRARY 

SELECTIONS  FROM 
"THE  FEDERALIST" 

Edited  with  an  Introduction  by 
JOHN  SPENCER  BASSETT 

Professor  of  History  in  Smith  College 

A  careful  and  discriminating  selection  of  the  "Essays  written  v,n 
favor  of  the  new  constitution,  as  agreed  upon  by  the  federal  con- 
vention, September  17,  1787." 

HISTORICAL  ESSAYS 
By  Lord  Macaulay 

Selected  with  an  Introduction  by 
CHARLES  DOWNER  HAZEN 

Professor  of  History  at  Columbia  University 

A  group  of  the  better-known  historical  essays  which  includes  "John 
Hampden,"  "William  Pitt,"  "The  Earl  of  Chatham,"  "Lord  Clive," 
"Warren  Hastings,"  "Machiavelli,"  and  "Frederick  the  Great." 

SARTOR  RESARTUS 
By  Thomas  Carlyle 

Edited  with  an  Introduction  by 
ASHLEY  THORNDIKE 

Professor  of  English  at  Columbia  University 

This  ''Nonsense  on  Clothes,"  as  Carlyle  referred  to  it  in  one  entry 
of  his  journal,  reaches  into  all  the  human  realm  and  is  perhaps  the 
greatest  philosophical  expression  of  Carlyle's  genius.  Surely  there 
is  a  power  of  pure  thought  which  he  has  put  into  the  mind  of  Pro- 
fessor Tempelsdriich  and  a  charm  of  words  which  he  has  given  him 
to  speak  which  he  has  nowhere  surpassed. 

A  glossary  in  this  edition  will  be  of  invaluable  service  to  the 
student. 


THE  MODERN  STUDENTS  LIBRARY 

EVAN  HARRINGTON 
By  George  Meredith 

With  an  Introduction  by 
GEORGE  G.  REYNOLDS 

Professor  of  English  Literature,  University  of  Colorado 

Evan  Harrington,  one  of  the  greatest  demonstrations  of  George 
Meredith's  genius,  is  an  ironic  comment  on  English  society  and  man- 
ners in  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century,  done  with  amazing  pene- 
tration and  the  best  of  his  humor.  In  the  large,  it  reflects  the  strug- 
gle between  spiritual  and  moral  ideals  which  was  constantly  going  on 
in  Meredith's  mind  and  which  ends  in  the  triumph  of  the  spirit  of 
sacrifice. 

THE  MASTER  OF  BALLANTRAE 

By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

With  an  Introduction  by 
H.  S.  CANBY 

Formerly  Professor  of  English  Literature  at  Yale  University,  and 
present  editor  of  the  New  York  Evening  Post  Literary  Review 

Here  is  one  of  the  most  absorbing  of  Stevenson's  romances,  full  of 
the  spice  of  adventure  and  exciting  incident,  the  thrill  of  danger  and 
the  chill  of  fear;  it  is,  beside,  a  powerful  and  subtle  study  of  Scotch 
character  of  different  types,  and  brings  into  being  one  of  the  most 
amazing  of  all  the  dramatis  personae  of  romantic  fiction. 

POEMS  AND  PLAYS 

By  Robert  Browning 

Selected  with  an  Introduction  and  Notes  by 
HEWLETTE  ELWELL  JOYCE 

■    -  Assistant  Professor  of  English  in  Dartmouth  College  -~- 

A  volume  intended  for  the  student  or  less-advanced  reader  of 
Browning  who  does  not  require  a  complete  edition.  The  introduction 
suggests  an  approach  to  Browning,  points  out  such  diflBculties  as  often 
perplex  one  who  reads  Browning  for  the  first  time,  and  states  simply 
a  few  of  the  poet's  fundamental  ideas. 


THE  MODERN  STUDENTS  LIBRARY 

RUSKIN'S 
SELECTIONS  AND  ESSAYS 

With  an  Introduction  by 
FREDERICK  WILLIAM  ROE 

Assistant  Professor  of  English  at  University  of  Wisconsin 

"Ruskin,"  said  John  Stuart  Mill,  "was  one  of  the  few  men  in 
Europe  who  seemed  to  draw  what  he  said  from  a  source  within  him- 
self." Carlyle  delighted  in  the  "fierce  lightning  bolts"  that  Ruskin 
was  "copiously  and  desperately  pouring  into  the  black  world  of 
anarchy  all  around  him." 

The  present  volume,  by  its  wide  selection  from  Ruskin's  writings, 
affords  an  unusual  insight  into  this  remarkable  man's  interests  and 
character. 

THE  SCARLET  LETTER 
By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

With  an  Introduction  by 
STUART  P.  SHERMAN 

Professor  of  English  at  University  of  Illinois 

"  'The  Scarlet  Letter'  appears  to  be  as  safe  from  competitors 
as  'Pilgrim's  Progress'  or  'Robinson  Crusoe.'  It  is  recognized  as 
the  classical  treatment  of  its  particular  theme.  Its  symbols  and 
scenes  of  guilt  and  penitence — the  red  letter  on  the  breast  of  Hester 
Prynne,  Arthur  Dimmesdale  on  the  scaffold — have  fixed  themselves 
in  the  memory  of  men  like  the  figure  of  Crusoe  bending  over  the 
footprints  in  the  sand,  and  have  become  a  part  of  the  common  stock 
of  images  like  Christian  facing  the  lions  in  the  way. 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Sep  21  6  4 


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REC'D  COL  Lia  ^ 

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JAN  271971 


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